Novelized Scenes from The Last Jedi (fanfic, unofficial)
by grape-2010
Summary: I've "translated" some of the scenes from The Last Jedi into novel format, heavy on the Reylo angst. Originally I just planned to do the scene in the throne room, but I kept writing. I wanted to put them in one place, so I've moved them all here instead of publishing them as individual stories. I won't do the whole movie, but I'll do my favorite bits.
1. A Child in a Mask

_**A Child in a Mask**_

With a subtle hiss and quiet clank, the elevator doors slide apart. Garbed in black from helm to boot, Kylo Ren steps out into the Supreme Leader's throne room. The chamber is something of an atrium, with a high glass wall that curves around behind the dais. A blood-red curtain currently obstructs the view; it also provides the Praetorian Guard with a measure of camouflage, as their crimson armor becomes nearly imperceptible against it. An elite force of warriors, they stand sentry, silent and watchful, spread out along the edge of the open platform which bears the throne.

At Ren's arrival, General Hux glances over his shoulder, his pasty countenance smug. Standing at ease off to one side, he seems to have been engaged in a conversation with their leader, who presently gives a low chuckle. "Tied on a string, indeed, General Hux," Supreme Leader Snoke says with pleasure in his deep, rumbling voice. "Well done. The Resistance will soon be in our grasp."

"Thank you, Supreme Leader." Hux respectfully bows his head and turns to leave. Passing Ren on his way out, the senior officer tosses a cocky smirk toward his masked rival.

Since Starkiller Base imploded, the general has been more insufferable than ever, and despite Ren's extensive training, he finds it difficult to tamp down his growing annoyance. Aggravating the issue, Snoke and Hux have been meeting without his knowledge. The blatant exclusion is a message, a threat, a promise. After Ren failed to capture the droid, after he failed to get the map from the scavenger girl, after he failed to present her to Snoke as commanded, clearly he is no longer the master's prize pupil.

After Hux has gone, Snoke continues to chuckle as Ren kneels before him. "You wonder why I keep a rabid cur in such a place of power," the Supreme Leader declares with sinister satisfaction. "A cur's weakness, properly manipulated, can be a sharp tool." His hideous grin fades, and more soberly, he inquires, "How's your wound?"

Which one? Ren amassed several recently—major trauma to the left side of his torso, a graze on his arm, and a jab to the opposite shoulder. Each took a progressively larger toll on his pride, but their shame pales in comparison to the long gash he knows Snoke is speaking of.

Keeping his head bent, he gives a dismissive response, willing it to sound earnest. Distorted by the vocal modifier in his mask, his mumbled words are nearly indiscernible. "It's nothing."

Snoke grimaces. A tall, gaunt creature that only appears human, he gains his feet and drawls mockingly, "The mighty Kylo Ren." His gold robes shimmer and swish as, with a slow, awkward gait, he steps down from the dais and leisurely approaches his apprentice. "When I found you, I saw what all masters live to see—raw, untamed power. And beyond that, something truly special." Coming to a halt, he addresses Ren's bowed head in a reverential whisper. "The potential of your bloodline. A new… _Vader_." Giving the legendary name a moment of silence, Snoke draws a long, rasping breath before his mouth sinks into a scowl. "Now, I fear I was mistaken."

Taken aback, Ren goes still. _Mistaken?_ After all these years, he loses focus once, bungles his objective once, makes a fool of himself _once_ —and Snoke's forsaking him? Lifting his head, he doesn't try to suppress his incredulity. "I gave everything I have to you. To the dark side," he adds belatedly to convey a wider field of commitment.

His grotesquely scarred features contorting into a vexed sneer, Snoke pins Ren with eyes cold and colorless as ice. In an ominous hiss, he commands, "Take that ridiculous thing _off_."

Conscious of his battered visage, Ren hesitates. But, unable to refuse an order from the Supreme Leader, especially for the sake of vanity, he reluctantly obeys, revealing a pitiful portrait of wounded pride and disgrace. Black mechnosutures, which at a distance appear to form a narrow bandage, starkly contrast his pallid face. Beginning just beneath his right eye, the sutures slant across his cheek, then snake down the side of his neck and onto his shoulder, following the slash the scavenger girl savagely dealt him. An insult upon injury, as she struck with the lightsaber that should by all rights belong to him. She has also stolen sleep from him, leaving shadows beneath his eyes.

Inexplicably, though, her offenses rouse no wrath in him. Instead, he finds himself fascinated by the strength with which she wields the power of the Force. To his bemusement, he longs to meet her again, eager to learn more about her.

Never mind her origin as an insignificant orphan from Jakku; never mind her infuriating habit of thwarting him. From the moment he met her on Takodana—when she shot first—he has been captivated by the paradox she embodies—coexisting qualities of malice and purity.

For one fleeting moment in the forest on Starkiller Base, after she felled him to the ground and he lay supine, his flesh torn, he looked up to see a darkness clouding her expression, her judgment—the thirst for vengeance, the urge to strike a final blow and balance her own personal scales of justice. The urge to murder him as he murdered a man she considered a father. He fully expected to feel the fiery blade of her lightsaber pierce his chest, but the ground shook, moaned, cracked, then split into a fiery chasm before either of them could move, putting distance between them, saving them from one another.

As their eyes locked from opposite sides of the cleft, he watched the venom drain from her expression before she ran. But he's certain the dark side had called to her, as the light calls to him. And she recoiled from it, just as he does from the light. With every breath, he struggles to smother it. Is it possible she finds it equally difficult to deny the darkness?

He yearns for an answer.

But now is not the time to ponder the fierce look of heartbroken fury in her dark eyes, or the sense of familiarity she stirs inside him. Not now, when the Supreme Leader can sense every thought that crosses his mind, every emotion that touches his heart.

Shoving thoughts of her away, Ren stares meekly at the floor while he suffers Snoke's condescending perusal.

"Yes, there it is," the Supreme Leader scoffs. "You have too much of your father's heart in you, young Solo."

"I _killed_ Han Solo," Ren retorts quickly, impertinently, his eyes flying up to meet his master's. Snoke turns away, his movements casual with disinterest. Ren stares hard at his back, indignation swelling in his chest. Despite the animosity he harbored for Han, looking the man in the eye as he impaled him was the hardest thing Ren had ever done in his life. And he did it for Snoke. To win his master's favor. To earn the Supreme Leader's respect. To prove Ren harbors no emotion, no sentiment, no compassion. To establish firm footing with the dark side. But instead of commendation, he receives scorn.

His voice keen with resentment, his body trembling with it, Ren snaps, "When the moment came I didn't _hesitate_." And he hadn't. Much.

Swinging back around to face him, Snoke counters with severe reproach, his voice rising. "And look at you. The deed split your spirit to the bone!"

Though his eyes lower to the floor once more, Ren dares to lift his chin in defiance.

"You were _unbalanced_ ," Snoke growls, his disdain palpable. "Bested by a girl who had never held a lightsaber! _You failed!_ " he roars.

Ren's control slips another notch, and the instinct to defend himself overwhelms him. Bearing his teeth, he shoots to his feet and throws off his long black cape in one lithe, aggressive movement.

Instantly, the eight crimson sentinels assume combative stances, bladed weapons in hand, ready to defend their leader. But their interference isn't necessary. Snoke simply holds out a hand and summons blazing blue bolts of electricity that spring from the ground and stun Ren with a jolt, picking him up and dropping him to the floor. A pesky insect, swatted.

 _"Skywalker lives,"_ Snoke snarls as Ren sits up clumsily and throws a glance toward the guards, who return to a passive state. Turning his back on Ren, the Supreme Leader ascends the steps to his obsidian throne. "The seed of the Jedi order lives. As long as it does, hope lives in the galaxy."

Ren manages to get to his feet and gazes at Snoke steadily, his expression carefully neutral, his breathing measured, every ounce of control that remains at his command working to quell the turbulent emotions surging through his veins. Still, the slightest trace of tender dejection passes over his face, because his master, his leader, his guide, his teacher—and for all intents and purposes, his father—has spurned him. Once again, he has been judged and found lacking.

"I thought you would be the one to snuff it out." Snoke drops onto the seat of his throne as if the altercation exhausted him. "Alas," he sighs dispiritedly, quiet now. "You're no Vader. You're just a child…" He skewers his apprentice with another contemptuous glare. "In a mask."

* * *

A short time later, Ren stands alone in the elevator, surrounded by vertical oblong lights in black paneling. The moment the door closes, one frustrated, furious tear traces the side of his nose, then another. His breathing uneven, he swallows back the rest.

What did Snoke _want_ from him? He's done everything his master has asked, carried out every order issued, no matter how heinous. He ruthlessly murdered his father, believing the deed would at long last extinguish the spark of light plaguing him, and thus allow him to become the dark lord the Supreme Leader aspires him to be. But no—if anything, his father's demise fanned the spark into a flicker of flame. Instead of easing, the pain of conflicted conscience intensified.

He wasn't righteous enough to ascend as a Jedi Knight. He hasn't proven apathetic enough to lose himself in the dark.

Where does that leave him?

 _I fear I was mistaken… You're just a child in a mask._

He glances down at the helmet he carries in his hand. Part of his uniform as master of the Knights of Ren, it was meant to be inspiring as well as intimidating. Inspiring to him, intimidating to everyone else. Now, thanks to Snoke's cutting remark, it seems foolish. A prop. The prop of a coward. A disguise to hide his true identity, the embarrassing circumstances of his birth. To hide his lack of resolve. To hide his fear.

He raises his gaze.

The mask also represents the greatness he has failed to achieve. The dark legacy he has failed to honor.

This time, his emotions don't manifest as tears. In a burst of violence, he slams the helmet into the paneling, emitting sparks and shattering glass. Glinting fragments tinkle as they scatter across the floor.

Quivering, he slowly pulls back and stares down at the cracked and splintered facade. No more.

No more hiding.

With a grunt of effort, he again slams the helmet into the paneling.

No more cowering.

 _Slam_.

No more failing.

 _Slam_.

He will be the prodigy Snoke wishes him to be.

 _Slam_.

Because he doesn't know what else to do. Doesn't know what else to become.

 _Slam_.

He has nowhere else to go.

He drops the remnants of his obscurity to the floor. When the doors part, his shoulders are hunched, his fists clenched. Ferocity rolling off him in waves, he barks, "Prepare my ship," at the officers who snapped to attention upon sight of him. Barging past them, he stalks down the corridor. On the warpath.

* * *

The barrage begins.

Missiles arc and fall in streaks of green, land in bursts of flame. Caught unawares, the cargo frigate is shot down within moments of the First Order's arrival. The other three Resistance ships strengthen their rear shields and hurry to get out of range.

Seated in the cockpit of his _Silencer_ , Ren departs the _Supremacy_ flanked by three TIE fighters. Unintimidated by the vast black expanse of space, they zoom toward their target: the Star Cruiser _Raddus_ , command central for the Resistance—and flagship of General Leia Organa.

Inhaling deeply, he reviews his tactical objectives: destroy the primary bridge and the main hangar, where the fighter pilots will surely be scrambling to retaliate at this very moment. Without leadership or starfighters, the Rebels' hope will quickly wane as their organization collapses. After the First Order takes what they want from the remains of the helpless fleet—which better include the map to Skywalker—the Resistance will be destroyed. Then the search for Skywalker will resume.

Is the scavenger girl on board? Or did she and the traitorous trooper take that abominable freighter back to Jakku?

He forces the thoughts away, dispelling his curiosity. Shutting out his weakness. Determined, he issues his wingmen a directive. "Follow my lead."

Overtaking the cruiser, he blasts it with laser bolts and continues to fire while he executes a barrel roll, dives around to the starboard side, and takes aim on the main hangar. Arming a pair of proton torpedoes, he decisively presses the trigger and launches them directly into the bay. _Boom_. No more pilots.

Down one wingman, Ren leads the two remaining TIE fighters around the stern of the cruiser and along its port side, staying close to discourage enemy fire. As they reach the bow, however, his motivation shifts, and he flies as close to the bridge as he dares, boasting his skills and making certain they get a good look at his powerful vessel—the one that will end them.

Without warning, a familiar warmth flows over him, into him. An energy he hasn't felt in years. Not since he was a child.

 _Mom._

She's on board. There, in the bridge. He knew she would be. Where else would she be? Where else has she ever been? But he didn't expect to sense her. Not like this.

Hope. So much hope.

His defenses crumble, and as he flies out to gain some distance and circle around to take aim, his heart pounds and his mind spins.

He's about to kill his mother.

No. He's about to annihilate the leader of the Resistance. He has to do this. He _will_ do this. He will free himself from the past and secure his future. As if to prove it to himself, he readies his laser cannons.

Her warmth seeps into the deepest parts of him, of his mind, of his heart. It seeks out the neglected little boy and wraps around him like a downy piece of linen, soft yet strong.

 _Come home. Please, come home._

His flight computer trills. The shot is lined up and locked on.

 _Fire_.

It's too late. Too late for apologies, for comfort, for guidance. She sent him away. He was a bothersome burden that took up too much of her precious time. The fate of the galaxy was more important than the fate of one needy little boy, no matter that the boy was her own. Now, the fate of the galaxy rests in that needy little boy's hands. Joke's on her.

He's where he belongs. He must be, because everyone else turned him away.

His thumb moves over the trigger, begins to press down.

 _Fire_.

Her warmth feels so good, so right. Tears prick his eyes, and he swallows hard as temptation gnaws at him. If he went to her… But he's no longer a child. How would she be able to stand the sight of the man who has slaughtered so many innocents? Committed so many vile acts?

The man who killed her husband.

His father's face appears in his mind's eye, as clear as if Han Solo was alive before him. When he thrust his saber through his father's chest, surprise, pain, confusion, and hurt all passed over Han's craggy countenance. But in his final moments, Han reached out to caress Ben's face. The face of his son. His grown boy. Acceptance dawned, understanding, regret. And then…a dim flicker of forgiveness.

Perhaps that's simply what Ren wanted to see.

The targeting system continues to trill. The command ship draws closer…closer…

Snoke expects him to aid in crippling the Resistance. If he doesn't, the Supreme Leader will lose faith in him entirely, and he'll be finished. Snoke will crush him. There is no escape.

He has to do this.

 _Fire_.

But his thumb doesn't so much as twitch.

If he does fire on the bridge, kill his mother, and enable the First Order to destroy the Resistance, will the Supreme Leader appreciate his efforts, or will Ren have somehow failed once more? Will his mother's death be in vain, as his father's was?

His stomach revolts, but the warmth is there, everywhere, soothing, caring, loving.

Carefully, deliberately, he releases the trigger and rests his thumb beside it.

Two bright blue streaks sail past his ship, startling him. He jerks his head to side to see where the shots came from. The TIE fighters.

He watches in dismay as the primary bridge of the _Raddus_ explodes. All manner of debri is sucked out into the inhospitable void of space.

Anything that was alive is now dead—including the warmth inside him. In its absence, he is cold. So cold.

 _Mom_ …

He spared her, and she was killed regardless. He no doubt deserves that.

He and his wingmen angle around the bow and head aft. The Resistance Bunkerbuster wrecks the TIE fighter who took the first shot at the bridge. With grim satisfaction, Ren flies past the debri.

A blue-tinted hologram appears before him. In full parade uniform, Hux stands with his hands clasped behind his back. "Ren, the Resistance pulled out of range. We can't cover you at this distance. Return to the fleet."

Receiving an order from Hux—to retreat, no less—abrades his raw nerves, but the general's right. As Ren watches, the Bunkerbuster takes out the last of his wingmen, and without cover fire from the Star Destroyers, he's completely exposed.

Setting course for the _Supremacy_ , he wonders what the Supreme Leader will have to say about what has been accomplished. At this point, the Resistance ships are nothing more than targets bleeding fuel. It's only a matter of time before their futile insurgence has concluded, and when it has, Ren will find Skywalker, and he will obliterate all that remains of the sanctimonious Jedi Order. Hope will be gone, along with any obstacles in his path to the dark side.

* * *

If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share **excerpts** on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to my site noapologybookreviews . com. Maybe I'll win the lottery and it'll come to the attention of someone at Del Ray. Help me buy tickets, as it were. 😉 Thanks, guys!


	2. Just You

**Note :** Writing a Force Bond scene was more of a challenge than I anticipated. One form of media doesn't always translate well into other mediums, and while I originally wrote this switching viewpoint as often as the movie did, it sounded broken and disrupted, so I combined a few, and it reads more smoothly. So it's not _exactly_ as it happened in the movie. I did my best, so hopefully it's a decent translation.

Also, I couldn't get the editor to allow simple breaks for some reason, and I didn't want to insert lines, so I did the most inconspicuous thing I could think of and inserted periods between the alternating viewpoints to keep the editor from mashing them all together.

* * *

 ** _Just You_**

Dawn slants through a break in the conical stone wall of the hut, announcing a bright new day by touching warm golden light to her cheek. Listening to the wind whistle softly through the same opening, Rey sits up on the stone bench she covered with a bedroll from the _Falcon_. Eyes half closed as the fog of sleep clears from her mind, she enjoys the narrow beam of sunlight and wonders how the Jedi Master will begin their lessons.

.

The black mechnosutures have been removed; the torn flesh has mended and calmed. Bacta therapy was applied too late to prevent scarring, but a medical droid is sealing the tissue to minimize the mark that will forever linger. In a flurry of movement, three long, delicate, needle-like multiceps softly tink and swish as they join the edges of the thin scar that runs across his cheek, down his neck, and along his shoulder.

Ren sits quietly, patiently, meditatively as he waits for the droid to finish. Utterly still, he barely breathes, his energy trained inward.

Snoke must have been pleased with the attack on the Resistance fleet, for he has not summoned Ren. And as his current status is both alive and aboard the _Supremacy_ , Ren assumes his master hasn't fully forsaken him after all. He may have a chance to redeem himself.

With the Resistance incapacitated, the best way to atone for his failures would be to complete his outstanding orders—find Luke Skywalker, destroy him, and end the Jedi Order once and for all; then find the scavenger girl and bring her to Snoke for…

He isn't completely certain what the Supreme Leader intends to do with her, but the peculiar wisp of dread that curls in his stomach at the idea of their meeting does not bode well.

While the map itself or copies of it are closer at hand, undoubtedly on the Resistance command ship, and would naturally be the more reliable source, Ren would prefer to locate the girl and force her to navigate. However, the decision to take her instead of the droid was the first stumbling misstep in his fall from grace. It would not be wise to make that choice again. Nevertheless, he wonders…

Where is she? What is she doing at this very moment?

.

Rey scratches her nose and glances around the hut lethargically.

Will she and Master Skywalker train with the lightsaber? Move things around without touching them? Read each other's minds?

Her enthusiasm hardens into determination, driving away the dregs of sleep. Rather than learning to read minds, could Skywalker teach her how to properly block a mental invasion? She'll never forget how violated she felt when Kylo Ren pushed his way into her mind and perused her thoughts, dreams, and emotions as if they belonged to him.

Recalling his unbridled depravity threatens to spoil the peaceful start to her day. Unwilling to grant him that power, she casts her mind around to think of something else.

Except…

What is that? Frowning, she glances to her right, looking for—something. Nothing in the hut has changed. Did she hear something outside? No, the change is _inside_ her. A feeling, a sense—

Oh, no. Is this a Force thing? Is Skywalker doing this? Testing her? He said the lessons would start at dawn.

A figure appears in her peripheral vision. Her eyes snap to it, and she beholds—Kylo Ren?

.

Suddenly, the energy in the medbay stirs. Not a disturbance in the Force so much as a shift. Gaze sharpening as he's pulled out of his musings, Ren looks to the left, trying to identify the cause. Lightly pushing the medical droid away—the noise of its work, however soft, was too close to his ear, too loud—he furrows his brow and focuses on the shift, allowing the sensation to wash over him. There's something…

Ren faces forward—and there she is. The girl.

Rey.

.

Utter silence envelops them.

.

His lips part in shock. His pulse quickens. His shallow breaths echo in the stillness.

She's just—there. Sitting on the station across the room from him. As if he invoked her presence with his thoughts.

.

She blinks, unable to believe her eyes. _Kylo Ren?_ In her hut? On Ahch-To? How—?

.

He has never experienced the Force like this. Didn't know it was possible. If he went to her, if he reached out—could he touch her? Is she actually, physically present, or is she merely a projection? Is it even really her, or just a manifestation of his obsession? _How?_

 _._

Kylo Ren. The murderer. The monster. In her hut.

A series of images pass before her mind's eye. Han Solo gruffly asking her to work with him, fly with him. Han Solo, Chewie, and Finn sneaking onto Starkiller Base to help her.

Han Solo, impaled by a fiery red blade of light. A fiery red blade wielded by the shadowy figure currently, inexplicably, standing in her hut.

The vat of rage and grief that has simmered deep in her stomach since the moment of Han's death heats to a boil, writhing and bubbling over into every part of her. Bearing her teeth in a snarl, she snatches her blaster from where it rests beside her, switches off the safety, and shoots the patricidal villain in his nonexistent heart.

.

Consumed by fascination and curiosity, drinking in the sight of her, he doesn't register her movements or decipher her intention in time to anticipate the flash of crimson that sails toward him and collides with his midsection. Gasping and jolting violently in his chair—an overdue reflex—he looks down, expecting to see a charred, smoking hole in his gut. But as his eyes take in his pristine black uniform, his mind notes the absence of pain.

Breathing hard, shaking in the aftermath of surging adrenaline, he raises his gaze and sees through his dark, quivering locks an empty space where she sat a moment ago.

He perceives her with such a lack of animosity that he fails to remember—foolishly so—that her attitude toward him may not be as favorable. Even more humiliating is the fact that he's well acquainted with her habit of shooting first and asking questions later. How many times now has the mere sight of him inspired her to pull the trigger? Yet he didn't immediately ready his defenses. He was wide-eyed and unprepared.

His weakness, indeed.

.

He's gone. Her rage receding, Rey stares at the crude new window she created in the wall of the hut. Where did he go? Did she hit him? Or did the plasma bolt pass through him, like it would if he were a hologram? Was he ever really there? She couldn't have been dreaming; it was too real. It _felt_ real.

She hurries outside and glances at the rubble beneath the new window—she'll fix that later—before jogging along the dirt path toward Skywalker's hut. He can explain what happened. Maybe he orchestrated it. Some Jedi test. He'll know what she saw. He'll know what to do.

.

Her shot wasn't physically present, so, logically, she must not have been, either. But logic rarely factors into the Force. Ren steps down from his chair with the lithe grace of a predator on the hunt for its prey. Tense, alert, he studies the area. Nothing out of place. No vengeful scavengers hiding in the corner. Hastening from the room, he slides to a halt in the middle of the dimly lit corridor, scanning the hall for signs of a visitor, feeling for one through the Force. Only a black, square-shaped custodial droid chirps and scuttles along the floor.

When the sensation once more trickles over him, he goes still and concentrates. Feeling her behind him, he whips his head around to look over his shoulder. And she's there, standing mere feet from him. Taking a step back to view her squarely, Ren can't contain his delight. This could be quite the boon, whatever it is that's happening. If she's forging this connection, somehow trying to find him—to exact retribution, no doubt—her raw skill, while strong, will be unstable—and easily manipulated.

.

On the path, Rey slows to a stop. There it is again—that subtle shift in her perception that alerts her to a new presence.

Resigned to whatever's happening, she turns and squints in the cheerful sunlight—and finds Kylo Ren already gazing directly at her. He's toying with her again, mocking her ignorance. He has to be, because he seems far too pleased with himself, and _she's_ certainly not causing this connection. Neither, she believes, is Skywalker.

Her rage rises to the surface once more, but she has a better grip on her impulses this time. Strengthened by the knowledge that he can't hurt her since she clearly failed to shoot him, she defies his intense stare with a glare of her own, letting him know he couldn't be more unwelcome.

.

Throwing up his arm, Ren reaches out toward her, reaches out to seize her with his more adept command of the Force, and demands, "You'll bring Luke Skywalker to me." No matter where she is, no matter what else she's doing, she knows how to find the last Jedi, one way or another. He need only issue the order, and he could complete all of his unfinished assignments in one go.

.

While outrage straightens her spine, relief relaxes her shoulders. She feels absolutely no compulsion to do his bidding.

.

After a moment, Ren realizes that, like her inability to shoot him, he's unable to control her through this unusual connection. Reason catches up with his ambition, and, disappointed and embarrassed, he drops his gaze. Working his jaw in a self-conscious manner, he retracts his arm and announces rather humbly, "You're not doing this. The effort would kill you."

.

He thought this was her doing? Rey would have laughed if she wasn't so angry.

But…if he thought it was her, then it also can't be him.

.

Ren supposes he can't take advantage of something he doesn't understand. Unconvinced she would remain if he took his eyes off her, he holds her in his gaze for a long moment before finally turning to survey the length of corridor behind him. "Can you see my surroundings?"

.

Affronted by his casual attitude when all she can do is seethe, she allows her rage to spew up and out of her mouth. "You're gonna _pay_ for what you did," she menaces, hard and uncompromising, meaning every word. She will see to it herself.

.

Not in the least intimidated, he turns back to her and says thoughtfully, "I can't see yours." He observes what he _can_ see with wonder. "Just you."

An understatement; the moment he learned of this seemingly inconsequential girl, the internal structure which protects all of his preconceived notions and careful calculations began to crumble. With this development—this connection—another wall trembles. "No," he whispers with baffled awe, his agenda all but forgotten. "This is something else."

.

Unsure of what to make of all this, unsure of what she should do, she continues to glower at him.

Suddenly, a metallic clatter shatters the silence—the door of Skywalker's hut scraping stone as it opens. Startled, Rey whips her head toward the sound, then brings it back around just as quickly. Did Kylo Ren hear that? He said he can't see anything around her, but…

.

He watches her glance wildly over her shoulder, then squint at him with calculation. His eyes following the direction in which she looked, he sees nothing but the dark corridor of the medbay. But he knows that expression. She's assessing his knowledge, wondering what he can see, hear, debating if he was lying to her when he said he couldn't do either. What would she not want him to see or hear? What would she want desperately to hide from him? Despite a multitude of answers, there is one particular thing—person, rather—that she doesn't want him to know about, to find. Something he wants but she won't let him have.

"Luke," he guesses with such assurance that it sounds more like a smug statement than an inquiry. She's so artless. It amuses him.

.

"What's that about?" Skywalker calls to her, his voice muffled. Her heart skips a beat. Is he talking about Kylo Ren? Can he see him? She turns to the Jedi as he gestures at something behind her—she spins back—

Two amphibious creatures are exclaiming over the new window in her hut. Dressed in white robes and head scarves, the creatures glare at her while making aggravated gestures. Kylo Ren is nowhere in sight.

Bemused, she pivots to see more similarly dressed creatures working in the ancient Jedi village, washing and airing linen, digging with a handmade tool, performing mundane tasks. Her mishap created more work for them. Feeling guilty and off-balance, she mumbles a response to Skywalker's question. "I was cleaning my blaster. It went off."

He regards her with a wizened gaze for the briefest of moments—does he sense the falsehood?—before accepting the explanation with a nod and ambling away. "Let's get started."

Before following him, Rey casts one last wary gander at the place where Kylo Ren stood only a moment ago.

 _What just happened?_

* * *

If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share **excerpts** on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to my site noapologybookreviews . com. Maybe I'll win the lottery and it'll come to the attention of someone at Del Ray. Help me buy tickets, as it were. 😉 Thanks, guys!


	3. Lesson One

**_Lesson One_**

An ethereal veil of white clouds hovers over Temple Island, filtering but not obstructing the suns' light. Hampered by structures and formations in the ancient Jedi village below, the wind is a mere mild breeze; however, it grows bolder as Rey and Skywalker ascend the winding stone steps up one of the island's tallest peaks.

Her thighs burning, Rey begins to wonder which she and Skywalker will encounter first—their destination or the sky? The thought no sooner crosses her mind than they come upon an opening in the rocky crag.

The first Jedi temple.

Skywalker enters with a casual indifference that tells her he's done so many times. Her own stride slows as her eyes widen.

The interior chamber is so large that she's certain the entire mountain must be hollow. Despite its vastitude, though, it's a simple space, designed for a specific purpose. The high, vaulted ceiling shelters a small pool encircled by a short stone ledge in the center of the floor. Visible through the calm, clear water is a mosaic, an arrangement of small stones and pebbles that depicts a humanoid figure with legs folded and head bowed—a Jedi in meditation. The figure holds what appears to be a narrow staff—or perhaps some sort of weapon—that serves to bisect the piece.

While Skywalker moves on, Rey takes a moment to peruse the mosaic. It's a study of contrasts and parallels; where dark stones lay to the left of the staff, light-colored stones mirror them on the right. As such, the figure of the Jedi is fashioned in both elements; it appears to be humoring them in equal measure.

She'd like to ponder it longer, but she dares not neglect the hard-won attention of her cantankerous companion. Following him through another opening, this one smaller, she steps out onto a slight precipice with a daunting view of the seemingly endless body of water that covers the planet Ahch-To. Porgs coo and call overhead as they visit their nests tucked into the nooks and crannies of the mountainside.

As there's no time to waste, she once again launches into her campaign. "Master Skywalker," she begins with utmost seriousness, "we need you to bring the Jedi back, because Kylo Ren is strong with the dark side of the Force. Without the Jedi, we won't stand a chance against him."

Standing beside a plinth comprised of two flat stone slabs stacked atop one another, the wind stirring his hair and cloak, Skywalker regards her with austere appraisal. "What do you know about the Force?"

"It's a power that Jedi have that lets them control people, and…" She hesitates, realizing she knows little else about the mystic energy. "Make things float."

"Impressive," he praises satirically. "Every word in that sentence was wrong." Turning away from her, he rounds the plinth and indicates it with a long green blade of grass. "Lesson one. Sit here, legs crossed."

Clasping his hands behind his back, he waits for her to comply and situate herself on the hard surface. When she gazes up at him with rapt attention, he explains, "The Force is not a power you have. It's not about lifting rocks. It's the energy between all things, a tension, a balance that binds the universe together."

Brow tense with determination, she nods readily. "Okay." After a moment, however, she squints up at him and asks with quiet uncertainty, "But what is it?"

He shifts his feet as he considers another approach. "Close your eyes," he directs softly. She obeys. "Breathe." She inhales, exhales. "Now, reach out."

Rey physically thrusts out her arm, fingers fully extended, and waits diligently for something to happen.

After rolling his eyes to Dagobah and back, Luke glances at her arm, at her—then lifts the blade of grass and lightly tickles her knuckles with the tip.

She gasps with delight. "I feel something."

"You feel it?" he whispers excitedly.

"Yes, I feel it!"

"That's the Force!"

"Really?"

"Wow, it must be really strong with you!"

She shakes her head in amazement. "I've never felt anythi—"

 _Whack_. He slaps her hand with the reed. "Ow!" Instantly she retracts the appendage, grimacing as she exclaims with more umbrage than pain. Shaking her smarting digits, she glares at him accusingly.

He stares back at her, deadpan.

Gradually, her indignation subsides as she realizes she misunderstood. Feeling ten times the fool, she lays her hand over her heart and humbly mumbles, "You meant reach out like…"

His brows arch high into his forehead, and the patronizing look he gives her suggests she should start with lessons at a much lower level. Much lower.

Well, how was she supposed to know? Until recently, she thought the Force and the Jedi were only myths and legends. Kylo Ren always reached out his arm or used his hands when wielding the Force; she'd extended her arm when she summoned the lightsaber on Starkiller Base. With her limited experience, she assumed the gesture was conducive to results.

Adjusting her position—sitting on a rock is not comfortable—she says defensively, "I'll try again."

Luke tosses the blade of grass over the cliff and into the wind. Taking her hand, he presses her palm to the surface of the plinth. "Breathe," he coaches, his gentle tone contrasting his churlish demeanor. "Just breathe."

Anxious that she'll make a fool of herself again, Rey squeezes her eyes shut. He makes the ability to commune with the Force sound simple, as if it should come naturally to her. Perhaps it should; perhaps her power isn't as strong as she wants to believe. Perhaps she isn't meant to use the Force at all. Perhaps she only defeated Kylo Ren because he was wounded and she was angry. The stormtrooper who freed her on Starkiller Base could have been a sympathizer.

A fluke. It could all have been a fluke. A crash of circumstances, a tangle of fates and chance. She could be no more than a Jakku scavenger who's had a brief adventure.

The notion makes her feel as hollow as the mountain.

"Reach out with your feelings," Luke instructs.

Brow knit, she draws a deep breath and wills herself to concentrate properly. Wills herself to succeed. Wills herself to be more than no one from nowhere. To be someone who is worthy of wielding the Force.

As she releases the breath, she imagines expelling her anxiety along with the air. She imagines Luke accepting the lightsaber and all that accompanies it. She imagines disembarking the _Falcon_ and watching Leia embrace her brother. She imagines the First Order falling to the Resistance. She imagines both peace and the Jedi being restored to the galaxy, because she— _she_ —convinced the last and most obstinate Jedi in existence that it was worth fighting for. She imagines…

Purpose.

Slowly, her features relax as something rouses inside her. Originating in her core, a mote of energy blooms and flourishes, warming, quickening, flowing through her veins, filling her lungs, touching her heart and opening her mind to a sense beyond the mundane, the tangible, the finite.

"What do you see?" Luke whispers.

With that sense, Rey perceives the repercussions of all that has come before…and the potential of all that may lie ahead. The possibilities overwhelmingly broad, she narrows her focus to her present environment.

"The island," she responds mildly, preoccupied.

Carrying the song of birds, a warm breeze brushes along grass and flowers in a meadow. "Life."

The remains of a long-dead creature rest far below the surface world. Its decomposed carcass provides the rich black soil with nutrients that, when properly warm and damp, encourages seeds to sprout and grow. "Death and decay…that feeds new life."

Wisps of atmospheric vapor dissipate in the heat of the suns, and light bathes the face of a mountain. "Warmth." But where one side basks in light, the other lies in shadow, further chilled by the ocean's spray. "Cold."

A mother porg spreads her wings over her newly hatched young, protecting them, loving them. "Peace." But somewhere else, a roaring wave trounces a vacated nest, destroying it and washing the remnants out to sea. "Violence."

"And between it all?" Luke prompts softly.

She shakes her head slightly, contemplating. "Balance. An energy." Then all perplexity drains from her face as enlightenment dawns. "A Force."

"And inside you?"

"Inside me…" Pushing, pulling, pulsing. "That same Force."

"And _this_ is the lesson," Luke whispers with passion. "That Force does not belong to the Jedi. To say that if the Jedi die, the light dies, is vanity. Can you _feel_ that?"

She hears his words…but she's not listening. Another sense, same and yet different, has entered her awareness. Frowning, Rey murmurs, "There's something else. Beneath the island."

A dark crevice, a shadowy cove worn as smooth and glassy as the stones in the mosaic.

 _Come…_

"A place. A dark place."

Spilling from an opening in the ground, slimy black seaweed grasps for purchase on gleaming wet rock.

"Balance," Luke says evenly. "Powerful light, powerful darkness."

"It's cold," she breathes.

 _Come…_

With an abrupt crack, the floor of the precipice begins to fracture.

 _Come…_

Around her fingertips, rock chips and pebbles rise into the air.

 _Come…_

"It's calling me," she cries, young, vulnerable, frightened by both the ferocity of the darkness…and its allure.

She knows this sensation, this baser nature tugging behind her navel, itching along her spine. She's felt it before, in the forest on Starkiller Base, when Kylo Ren lay at her feet. At her mercy.

 _Come…_

With a rumble and groan, boulders tumble down along the mountainside.

"Resist it, Rey," Luke orders. But his firm tone is laced with fear. "Rey!"

 _Come…_

If she can't get Skywalker to help… If she goes back to the Resistance empty-handed… If the First Order reigns over the galaxy…

She can't let that happen.

 _"Rey!"_

She can't fail.

 _Come._

She reaches for guidance—and finds herself gasping for breath, crouched on her hands and knees at the edge of the precipice.

Staring at her in astonishment, Luke mutters, "You went straight to the dark."

Mind awhirl with the experience, she pulls her upper body onto the plinth and states urgently, "That place was trying to show me something."

"It offered something you needed," he states knowingly. "And you didn't even try to stop yourself." He takes a small, fearful step back, then turns and makes to leave.

"But I didn't see you," she laments, her eyes those of a disenchanted child. "Nothing from you. You've closed yourself off from the Force." How can he instruct her in using the Force if he himself hasn't communed with it in years?

Slowly, he pivots, meets her gaze. And in his blue eyes she identifies caution, suspicion, and a fatigue that results from a life of too much adversity and too little prosperity. It's a countenance she's seen often at Niima Outpost; one she's worn herself.

Understanding, she whispers, "Of course you have."

When he speaks, his gruff voice is hard and resolute. "I've seen this raw strength only once before. In Ben Solo."

Her brow creases. Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?

"It didn't scare me enough then." His decisive, pragmatic stare lingers on her. "It does now."

With that, he hurries away, leaving her crouched on the precipice, shaken and forlorn.

Abandoned once again.

* * *

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	4. A Monster

**_A Monster_**

A hard, steady rain pours down on Temple Island as Rey exits the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ , having visited Chewie and checked for any communication from the Resistance. There was none, and as much as she tries to stay positive—a lack of communication could merely mean there's been nothing to communicate—she worries it's far more likely that the Rebels were unable to evacuate their base on D'Qar before the First Order repaid their favor in kind and blew it up. Would those who managed to board the fleet have escaped in time to avoid the same fate? She doesn't know, and the anxiety of not knowing alternately builds and depletes her motivation.

Finn. How is he, provided he's alive? She left her friend unconscious in the medbay aboard the _Raddus_ , recovering from a lightsaber blow delivered by Kylo Ren. And Leia… Has the General had time to grieve for the loss of her husband in the middle of this quickly escalating war? To grieve the fact that her son was responsible?

For the first time in her life, Rey has genuine friends. She should have gone back to them by now, with Skywalker in tow; but she didn't anticipate the last Jedi's intransigence. So instead of standing beside her friends as they confront what may be the greatest conflict of their lifetime, she's on an isolated island in the Unknown Regions trying to convince a self-exiled Jedi Master, who's lost in a crisis of faith, that there's hope the light will triumph—that with his help, they can save the galaxy from the First Order's domination.

How did this happen? One moment, she was picking through a Star Destroyer in the Graveyard, earning her rations, and waiting patiently for her family to return for her; the next, she's dodging the First Order, flying with legends, and searching for myths. How can any of it be real? Perhaps she's caught in a dream; it wouldn't be the first time her mind conjured an island to console her.

The spherical starboard side of the _Falcon_ shields her from the downpour. Stepping closer to the boundary of its protection, she holds out a hand to catch the stream of rainwater dripping off of the freighter's armored plates—and smiles wide as it splashes cool on her palm.

No, this place is definitely real. All of it is.

Shaking off the droplets, she steps closer to the edge of the plateau of rock just large enough to serve as a dock for the _Falcon_. Though dressed for inclement weather in a hooded poncho made of gray wool fibers that repel moisture, Rey lingers under the protection of the ship as she gazes out at the humbling expanse of storm-tossed sea that composes most of the surface area on Ahch-To. A frothing wave crashes against the shoreline, splattering salty spray across the rock at her feet and adding its own kind of thunder to the rainstorm.

Growing up on Jakku, she coped with the harsh desert climate by fantasizing about an island surrounded by water. It would rain there, often, and there would be lush green flora and exotic fauna.

And secrets.

In reality, the island of her dreams boasts an unpredictable climate that swings a pendulum from clear sapphire skies and balmy breezes to gusting gales, stinging cold, and booming thunderstorms. She would gladly trade a generous portion of rock for trees, not only for aesthetic purposes, but practical as well. And the native inhabitants, the Lanai, are not fans of her.

But, were she to stay, she would embrace all of the island's flaws if it meant she could explore its secrets. They're ready to be discovered; they call to her, unintelligible whispers in her ear, in her mind, in her heart. She feels them everywhere—in the uneti tree, in the temple, in the sea cave. In her dreams. In herself.

She has to get Skywalker to the front line, has to convince him to rebuild the Jedi Order once again. For if the Resistance doesn't prevail, if the light is smothered and the Jedi go extinct, those secrets will remain shrouded in mystery…and so will a part of herself.

As she stares out at the restless waves, the overcast sky—gray upon gray—she can feel them stirring restively inside her…frightening her, but also promising purpose.

.

Standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands clasped before him, Ren stands alone at a viewport overlooking the massive bay where AT-ATs and other armored transports are built, maintained, and stored aboard the _Supremacy_. On the other side of the glass, sparks rain down from an unseen source. He came here knowing he wouldn't be disturbed; the only time this observation deck sees use is when there's a weapons demonstration, and none are scheduled.

He could have retreated to his chambers to meditate in privacy, but it was too intimate a place in which to contemplate a matter that's already bizarrely intimate. He hoped an impersonal environment would enable him to review with detachment his most recent incident with the scavenger girl and decide upon an unbiased course of action.

So she's already found Skywalker. That shifts his agenda but doesn't alter it. While no longer a priority, the map continues to be an objective, as it leads to the ancient birthplace of the Jedi Order—an infernal place that needs to be crushed into infinitesimally small pieces and strewn across the void of infinity. Regardless of whether they finish off the Resistance fleet sooner or later, Ren's chief concern now is informing the Supreme Leader of the important development and preparing for Skywalker's return. The last Jedi is, at this time, the greatest threat to the First Order, and as Ren and Snoke would be the only worthwhile counterattack, they would be unquestionably wise to prepare to handle—preferably prevent—a strong mystic assault.

He should have already related the incident with the girl to his master, but he hasn't. He needs more information. He can't present Snoke with sheer speculation, not when his master holds him in such low regard at present.

Did they send the girl to speak with Skywalker alone? Perhaps the Wookiee accompanied her. Who else might hold sway with Skywalker after all these years? No one living. Of course, that's presuming Skywalker needs to be swayed; perhaps he was ready and eager, and they're presently on their way back, formulating a plan of attack.

He should tell Snoke. Forewarned is forearmed.

But if Skywalker does need swaying, how long will it take to convince him to return? Can he be convinced? How much time has the girl already spent with him? What have they discussed? Has he begun training her?

Has he…recognized something in her? Does she remind him of… If she does, in what way? By her strength with the Force, or…

A memory blurs the hangar before him. He recalls a snowy forest suffused with shadows. Recalls her chest heaving with exertion, her dark eyes snapping with fury, her grip on her saber rigid with bloodlust.

Would the Jedi sense the darkness in her, as he had in—in Ben Solo? Would… What would Skywalker do if he did?

His stomach clenches with concern, though he knows the girl can hold her own. She certainly did on Starkiller Base.

He nearly sighs aloud. Despite years of training, it would seem he's incapable of feigning indifference. His extensive education, squandered.

He hasn't reported to Snoke because he wants to keep the event to himself. It's extraordinary, the way they appeared to one another; unparalleled. He's never experienced anything like that before; he didn't know it was possible. It seems to be an exclusive phenomenon, and a part of him—a weak part, a sentimental part—wants it to remain so. At least until he can figure out how—why—it's happening.

The unprecedented encounter startled him, but he knew the bond was there. He felt it when they met: a sense of familiarity, as though she were someone he knew long ago but in time had forgotten. Learning of her meager existence bemused him further. A nobody from nowhere? How could she possibly matter? Yet with no instruction, the inconsequential girl not only blocked his mental inquest but pushed back, penetrated _his_ mind. She slipped past the defenses he's spent most of his life fortifying and sensed his innermost thoughts. His fears. And she's been in his head ever since.

In the forest on Starkiller Base, when she called _his_ family saber to her and, despite her lack of pedigree, despite her lack of refined skill, proceeded to trounce him with it, he knew.

The Supreme Leader has it wrong. Skywalker isn't the champion of the light; _she_ is. The Force awakened for her. It chose an orphan scavenger to oppose the progeny of Darth Vader. A nobody who possesses unbelievable power, but no education by which to temper it. A nobody who has nothing to lose, but everything to gain.

That makes her a dangerous enemy. Especially when allied with a Jedi Master.

He should tell Snoke—but still he hesitates. He wants to understand _why_. If he and the girl stand against one another, why is his attitude toward her so benign? If they're adversaries, why does the Force connect them by a method in which they cannot physically harm one another? Does it expect them to _talk_? To fight this war with words? He can't fathom it.

Unless…

Unless they weren't meant to be enemies.

He blinks, stunned by the notion. But before he can ponder it further, a strange sound reaches his ears. Static? He turns his head slightly, listening. No. The ocean. In the middle of a starship.

She's here. Rey.

Without a moment's pause, he turns. Resounding silence quells the white noise of whooshing waves.

His gaze direct, his tone soft, he asks for her opinion on the subject. "Why is the Force connecting us? You and I," he can't help but add, needing to impress upon her the exclusivity of this connection.

.

Rey's lips part in surprise, for he simply appears. One moment she's admiring the view, reveling in the wondrous sensations awakening inside her, and the next a towering figure appears in her periphery, too short to be Chewie, too tall to be Luke. She focuses on it—and identifies Kylo Ren, standing on the plateau with the storm at his back.

Her slight smile drops away. Not _again_. She hoped this— _thing_ , whatever it is, however he's able to appear like this, was a chance event that wouldn't be repeated. Embarrassed by the link and loath to find out what it could mean, she didn't tell Skywalker; but if this continues to occur, she may be compelled to bring it to his attention.

Furious that she's forced to interact with the fiend against her will, she doesn't register his words as she lashes out with a vehement hiss. _"Murderous snake!"_ Whether he's orchestrating this or not, he may as well know any efforts are wasted. He already guessed, anyhow. "You're too late," she snaps. "You lost. I found Skywalker." Let him think the Resistance is armed with a weapon more powerful than any gun. Let him know hope is not lost.

.

His face falls as he brings his teeth together. Her opinion of this connection is plain. Absorbed in the enigma of it all, Ren again forgot their different attitudes toward one another. His mild, curious; hers spitting venom—ironic, given the creature she accused him of personifying. At least this time her shot was verbal and not a white-hot bolt of energy. Though that didn't mean it was painless.

He glances away as he contemplates. His recent concern was apparently unfounded. If Skywalker sensed the darkness in her, recognized it, she wouldn't be so cocksure. If Skywalker reacted to her tainted soul as he had to Ben Solo's, she wouldn't consider the Jedi a hero. Surely not an ally. Perhaps not even an asset.

And if she knew the truth, she wouldn't look at Ren as if he were the living embodiment of pure, unmitigated evil.

Glancing up at her quickly, he asks, "Did he tell you what happened?" Seeing she's taken aback by his question, he steps toward her, his confidence spiking, his gait aggressive with purpose. His voice is firm, uncompromising as he presses, "The night I destroyed his temple. Did he tell you why?"

.

She won't let him throw her off balance, won't play his games. Glaring at him, Rey declares with firm, disdainful conviction, "I know _everything_ I need to know about you." What she would give to shove him off the plateau and into the churning water below.

.

"You do?" he murmurs absently as he dips his chin and scrutinizes her expression. She doesn't mean it. He can see it in her mouth; while her eyes stare daggers at him, her lips are parted, soft and vulnerable with doubt. His question rattled her. "Ah, you do," he mocks silkily.

She doesn't like that; her brow furrows deeply, and now those soft lips do tighten with the intent to rip his throat out. She doesn't wear disadvantage well, and it amuses him. Absurdly gratified to see the darkness in her once again, he comments, "You have that look in your eyes. From the forest." His amusement fades, however, as he remembers what incited the look. "You called me a monster."

.

"You _are_ a monster," she asserts, but dully. She tires of his games. Why must he play them? It's not as if she's going to change her mind. He's a heartless murderer. Nothing can change that.

.

He can't deny it. She's not wrong. He's killed many, many people. Innocents. Friends. His own father—in vain. He made difficult decisions in pursuit of the greater good—restoring stability and progress to a galaxy in turmoil. He's done what was necessary to combat strife and discord.

But he's not proud of the blood that stains his hands. Blood he'll never be able to wash away. In his most private thoughts, thoughts he perpetually strains to conceal from his master, he wishes there were another way to achieve order and maintain peace. But even the Jedi Master himself thought it best to eliminate permanently that which threatened his authority.

If both the light and the dark elect slaughter as their solution to anarchy, what is the difference between them?

Credulity, he supposes; the dark side knows the war is never over, while the light basks in false victory.

He takes another slow, deliberate step closer to her, holding her gaze steady, unblinking. He wants her to see his true opinion of himself. He wants her to see that he doesn't revel in war, in bloodshed, in chaos. He does—will always do—what he has to do to survive.

His intense need for her to understand unnerves him; _why_ does he feel compelled to lay bare his emotions, his weaknesses, to the enemy he should most dread? Yet he does; he showed her the man concealed by the mask, and now he reveals the human hidden behind the monster. The weary victim who protected himself by becoming a ruthless warrior.

His voice, reduced to a coarse whisper, catches on his solemn confession. "Yes, I am."

.

He admits it. That in itself doesn't surprise her. What surprises her is that he doesn't sound proud, or even indifferent. He sounds…sad.

Kylo Ren, the man who looked his father in the eye and murdered him in cold blood, now looks her in the eye and says he's sorry.

It doesn't make sense. She doesn't know what to say, so she stares at him as her mind spins and skids. And in the dark, fathomless wells of his eyes, she finds a memory; a moment when he peered at her in precisely the same way.

When he interrogated her in the holding cell on Starkiller Base, after she refused to tell him about the droid or the map it harbored, he reminded her that he could take whatever he wanted, for no one could withstand the Force when he used it against them. Nevertheless, she continued to defy him. As he dove into her most private thoughts as if he had the right, tears had slipped over her cheeks, dripped off her chin.

And he said to her in a low, soothing manner, _Don't be afraid._

As though he knew exactly how much pain he was causing her; knew exactly the price she paid in her struggle to keep him out. As though he were apologizing for it. For the necessity of it.

She blinks to dispel the unsettling moment of hindsight—and he vanishes along with it, as suddenly as he appeared. But as the wind tosses her poncho and ocean spray splatters across the rock at her feet, her troubled eyes remain locked on the space where he stood.

And the secrets stir restively inside her.

.

She disappears, speechless and confused. Good. Thoughts of her distract him; it's only fair thoughts of him distract her.

She'll ask Skywalker about that night, if for no other reason than to prove to herself that Ren's lying. He wonders what the old man will tell her. That's where she'll find the lie, no doubt.

He becomes aware of a sensation on his face. Moisture. Swiping his gloved hand over his cheeks, mouth, and chin, he stares down at the matte black leather as droplets of water run across his palm and escape between his fingers.

Ocean spray. Inside a starship, he both heard the ocean and felt it. The phenomenon that's already extraordinary is evolving into something even more so.

Or is it? Perhaps he and the girl, and presumably their surroundings, were tangible to one another during the first telepathic episode. Perhaps she would have indeed shot him…if something hadn't intervened. Something that is gradually revealing its true nature, as though it wants to leave them bemused—but only at first. Only until they've curbed the impulses each inspires in the other—vengeance on her part, manipulation on his. Until they can refrain from, see past, shallow and selfish reflexes.

As his pulse quickens, he curls his hand into a secure fist, retaining the droplets that didn't escape. Clinging to the evidence that he and this girl are meant to be more. Meant to transcend the very little they know.

He should seek guidance from the Supreme Leader.

Later.

* * *

If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share **excerpts** on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to my site noapologybookreviews . com. Maybe I'll win the lottery and it'll come to the attention of someone at Del Ray. Help me buy tickets, as it were. 😉 Thanks, guys!


	5. Your Greatest Weakness

**_Your Greatest Weakness_**

The setting suns cast a brilliant golden glow upon Temple Island. A porg cries faintly in the distance, and the whoosh of the ocean is all but inaudible from inside the ancient Jedi temple.

After what happened last time, Rey wasn't sure Skywalker would bother disclosing the other two lessons he promised—but here they are, once again striding through the large, hollow space inside one of the island's tallest peaks. She expects him to lead her to the plinth where her first lesson took place; instead, he strides toward the shallow pool that lies in the center of the chamber.

"Lesson Two," he declares reluctantly. "Now that they're extinct, the Jedi are romanticized, deified. But if you strip away the myth and look at their deeds, the legacy of the Jedi…is failure." He settles onto the low stone ledge that encircles the water. "Hypocrisy. Hubris."

Where she stands nearby, Rey's face morphs from idly attentive to outraged. "That's not true," she contends, stepping closer. Hypocrites? The Jedi? How could he say such a thing? The Jedi were strong and wise and fought for good, fought for the light—

Adamant and decisive, he retorts, "At the height of their powers, they allowed Darth Sidius to rise, create the Empire, and wipe them out." His words grow heavy with significance. "It was a Jedi Master who was responsible for the training and creation of Darth Vader."

Unfazed, she parries nimbly. "And a Jedi who saved him."

Skywalker glances down and away, as if disgruntled because she remembered that fact.

"Yes," she persists, her enthusiasm palpable, "the most hated man in the galaxy—but you saw there was conflict inside him. You believed that he wasn't gone, that he _could_ be turned."

"And I became a legend," he counters somberly.

Rey peers at him, her brow troubled. Does he regret that Darth Vader was redeemed? Is it foolish to consider the same course for Kylo Ren? Discouraged by the notion, she refrains from suggesting that perhaps…

 _You_ are _a monster._

 _Yes, I am._

Perhaps there's conflict in Kylo, like there was in Vader. Perhaps Kylo could be turned.

With him on the side of the Resistance… They could win the war.

"For many years, there was balance." As if having read her mind, Skywalker speaks forlornly of the very person who has incessantly occupied it since the rain stopped. "And then I saw…Ben. My nephew." His tone sours with self-deprecation. "With that mighty Skywalker blood. In my hubris, I thought I could train him, I could—pass on my strengths. Han was…" He moves his head in an indulgent manner. " _Han_ about it."

Rey smiles fondly, almost able to hear the late pilot's growl. _Mumbo jumbo._

"But…Leia," Luke says reverently, "trusted me with her son."

Her grin fades, reverses; it's easy to forget that Kylo Ren wasn't always Kylo Ren. He was once a boy—Han and Leia's boy. A boy who was loved.

"I took him." Luke nods. "And a dozen students, and began a training temple." As though embarrassed, he rises from the ledge and moves away, his back to her. "By the time I realized I was no match for the darkness rising in him— It was too late."

Kylo's voice, soft and curious, echoes in her ear. _Did he tell you what happened?_

Haunted by vulnerable dark eyes, she inquires on a whisper, "What happened?" Staring hard at the back of Luke's waterproof pinniped-skin jacket, she waits with bated breath for his response.

"I went to confront him," he answers at length. "And he turned on me. He must have thought I was dead. When I came to, the temple was burning."

His recounting sparks a memory in Rey; a vision of a cloaked figure fallen to his knees, his metal arm reaching out to a small blue-and-silver R2 unit. They were illuminated by the yellow-orange glow of fire—much as the light of the sinking suns touches upon that fallen figure now.

"He'd vanished with a handful of my students," he continues grimly, mournfully. "And slaughtered the rest."

Stricken, she regards at him with a furrowed brow. She doesn't understand. Why would Kylo want her to hear that awful story? It doesn't do him any favors. Another game?

"Leia blamed Snoke, but… It was me. I failed." Skywalker's quiet a moment before he bitterly hisses, "Because I was _Luke Skywalker_. Jedi Master." At last he turns, and, brows raised, gives her another meaningful look. "A legend."

"The galaxy may need a legend," she grants, then gives her head a small shake. The galaxy needs hope, inspiration, motivation—but she needs something more. She needs Luke Skywalker, he who once recognized the man inside the monster. She needs to know…if it's possible for history to repeat. If it should.

Her eyes—wide and innocent, lost and desperate, pleading—return to his. " _I_ need someone to…" _Help me. Guide me. Tell me what I'm supposed to do._ "Show me my place in all this." _Why has the Force awakened inside_ me _?_

Skywalker merely gazes at her as his chest heaves with emotion. His sad, tired eyes glisten with tears and despair; he looks beaten, like he tried, failed, and expects no further chances. Wouldn't take them if he got them. He's done.

But she's not. She's hardly begun.

Rising from the ledge, Rey stands at her full height, her brows arched with confidence. "And you didn't fail Kylo. Kylo failed you. I won't," she vows with firm conviction.

Luke's gaze slides away from hers, as if he's unable to face her certitude. And somehow, his shyness fosters the seed of doubt Kylo planted inside her.

 _The night I destroyed his temple—did he tell you why?_

Why did he want her to hear that story?

* * *

Later, after the suns have taken their light to the other side of Ahch-To, Rey climbs the ancient steps that extend from the plateau of rock where the _Falcon_ is docked to the cluster of stone huts that was once inhabited by Jedi. She's worn out, and the night air is cool. She yearns to start a fire in the hut where she's set up camp and let the flames warm her as she reflects on her second lesson—as well as her meetings with Kylo. But not now; now she simply puts one foot in front of the other.

She feels the shift inside her a second before the silence descends. Exasperated, she stops. _How_ is this happening? Why? Because Luke is reluctant, is the Force trying to impart to her what she needs to do?— _Talk_ to Kylo, as laughable as it may seem?

Does it have to be _now_?

Staring at the old, primitive staircase beneath her feet, Rey states—politely, though with an edge honed by fatigue—"I'd rather not do this now." Ten minutes. All she needs is ten minutes, and she'll be in her hut with a fire blazing. She'll be warm and cozy and ready to hear what he has to say. Ready to determine if he can be redeemed.

.

Having gone a round in a combat simulation room, Ren retires to his suite aboard the _Supremacy_. He believes it's important to keep his reflexes sharp and stay in peak physical condition—and he needed an outlet for the upheaval of emotions churning inside him. Among them is guilt, for he has yet to report to Supreme Leader Snoke—and he doesn't regret it as much as he should. Secret knowledge gives him an advantage, and he relishes it. Unfortunately, though, no matter how many faceless enemies he cut through, the turmoil inside him never faltered.

The lighting in his chambers is dim; shadows are long. The space is sterile, impersonal. Carved in symmetrical shapes, charcoal panels line the walls. The glossy black floor tiles are regularly waxed and polished by custodial droids. The dark atmosphere is relieved only by the small blinking lights of dials and knobs located on control panels.

Intending to shower, he sits on a bench, unbuckles his boots, and pulls them off; then, standing, he unzips the ends of his pleated sleeves, which extend past the wrist, so he can remove his gloves. Dropping them onto the bench, he unfastens his rigid leather belt so that it may follow. However, he first unclips his sabre and sets it aside; should he need it, it can come to him freely. Next he unzips his padded tunic, shrugs out of it, and tosses it onto the pile.

He's just slipped out of his shirt and added it to the discarded heap when he feels her presence.

The timing is not coincidental.

Since Ren took his place as an apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke, a rare few have seen him less than fully clothed in his uniform. Typically, not an inch of flesh is revealed, not even his face— _especially_ not his face. Kylo Ren, the Jedi Killer, is more of a symbol than a living being—an ominous figure swathed in black, countenance devoid of emotion, of humanity. A wraith of doom, defeat, destruction. Death.

A monster.

For years, he meticulously built and maintained that reputation. And then suddenly, this nobody girl appears from nowhere, and he's shedding protective layers like a snake—a murderous snake—sheds skins. Not just clothing, but carefully constructed dispositions: indifference, pride, objectivity.

Now he's forsaken his mask altogether; Kylo Ren has been given an identity as a human, as a mortal. And as a mortal, he's subject to weaknesses.

Such as the girl standing behind him. In his private quarters. Seeing him half-dressed. Exposed.

"I'd rather not do this now," she says with surprising civility.

"Yeah, me, too," he concurs, trying to disguise his discomfort, cursing the Force and its passive-aggressive maneuvers.

.

Is this an inopportune moment for him as well? Rey waits a beat, hoping the Force will show mercy and restore the sounds of island life—but she and Kylo remain enveloped in their own quiet world.

Resigned, she decides she may as well delve into the heart of the matter. Sucking in a breath, she pivots in his direction and pushes the words out of her mouth as she exhales. "Why did you hate your father?"

.

 _What_ did she ask?

She has yet to grace him with such a lenient tone of voice. Distracted by it, and by the startling question it presented— _why_ —Ren turns to face her, his brow tense with wonder.

She blinks rapidly several times, as if she suspects her eyes are malfunctioning, then averts her head and snaps, "Do you have something—a cowl or something you could put on?"

There's the petulance he knows. Ignoring the giddy nerves flitting about in his stomach, Ren stands solid and silent, keeping his hands deliberately loose and casual, his breathing regular, and waits calmly for her to get over it so they can move on to worthier topics. Though currently he can't remember what those topics might be.

.

She expels air in a rush, irritated. How is it he doesn't have to say a word and he pricks her temper?

Because he can put her at a disadvantage without them, that's how. And he does it on purpose. It infuriates her.

If she wants to turn him to the light, though, it's something she's going to have to get past. Or at least tolerate.

But it's so _annoying_.

Her patience rapidly eroding, she barks, "Why did you hate your father? Give me an honest answer."

She thinks of Han, gruff but kind, giving her a blaster so she could protect herself; offering her a job—then awkwardly disabusing her of the impression that he offered out of pity. Her throat closes; her nostrils sting. Moisture gathers in her eyes.

She knew Han Solo for a matter of hours, but she loved him. He was good to her like nobody else in her life.

And the man before her—his son, his killer—stands there casually, making _her_ feel weak. It's not right.

.

Ren can see the emotion gathering inside her like a burgeoning storm, growing heavier and darker as pressure builds. The urge to touch her, to soothe her, almost overwhelms him, and he takes several steps toward her before reason prevails. As he watches, fascinated, the thunderhead rolls in; pale light glints off the tears in her eyes, flashing like lightning.

Slashing through the space between them with an erect index finger, she thunders, "You had a father who loved you, who gave a _damn_ about you!"

The words seemed torn straight from her heart, and her grief, her anguish, weighs on his shoulders. "I didn't hate him," he negates swiftly, and feels a strange sort of relief having admitted that counterintuitive fact.

"They _why_?" she demands thickly, glowering at him with the same heartbroken fury that nearly drove her to end him in the snowy forest on Starkiller Base.

She refuses to name the crime as if that would make it less horrific, less true. But it doesn't; she needs to learn that. Needs to learn to face what has happened and the pain it caused.

For it hurts as much acknowledged as it does anonymous. And acknowledged, she would own the pain; the pain wouldn't own her.

"Why what?" he rejoins, determined to teach her. The storm inside her breaks; tears rain down over her round cheeks. "Why what?" he whispers, encouragingly—insistently. "Say it." _You'll be stronger_ , he wants to assert. We'll _be stronger._

 _._

Seeing the challenge in his dark gaze—his bloody _games_ —she sighs a little, her posture giving as a surge of weariness beyond impatience, beyond exasperation, drags at her.

She won't get her answer, won't get anything from him at all, unless she meets his challenge. And maybe not even then.

But she has to try.

Her chest nigh imploding with misery, she croaks, "Why did you—" She chokes on the words. Taking a moment, she gathers herself, hoping to retain some semblance of composure—or at least the ability to breathe. He waits; she can feel the intensity of his stare, can feel him willing her to pass his test.

She wills it, too.

Features twisting, grimacing with pain, she asks, "Why did you kill him?" An involuntary gasp, a sob, then she lifts her chin, her brows, and shakes her head. "I don't understand."

.

Lightly, he rebuts, "No? Your parents threw you away like garbage." How can she not understand? Of all people, he would think she could relate.

While his parents couldn't be bothered with him, they nevertheless provided for him. He knows that. They sent him to train to become a Jedi, which they considered an honor, a privilege. They wanted good things for him—but he didn't become what they wanted him to be. Didn't meet their impossibly high standards; didn't fulfill their dreams.

 _Her_ parents, on the other hand… They simply didn't care. It's another crime— _the_ crime—she needs to acknowledge. She buried the truth along with her dignity in that godforsaken desert. Instead of getting angry and proving them wrong, she lives in a fantasy world, convinced that they had a legitimate reason for leaving her behind, that circumstances prevented them from retrieving her. It's a lie, meant to comfort her on cold, lonely nights.

But it only undermines her. And he can't stand the thought of her—strong, spirited, intelligent— _important_ —making a fool of herself by excusing the reprobates who didn't merely send her away—they _threw_ her away.

It galls him.

How can she _not_ understand?

His blunt comment struck a nerve, and true to form, she lashes out. "They _didn't._ "

He keeps his voice gentle, supportive, as he relentlessly twists the dagger. "They did. But you can't stop needing them. It's your greatest weakness." He speaks with absolute certainty—because it's his truth as well. "Looking for them everywhere. In Han Solo. Now in Skywalker."

Her resolve wavers. One minute her eyes are glaring, hostile; the next, they're wide and wounded and weary.

Mentioning the Jedi Master reminds him of their last meeting, and, anticipating a blatant falsehood, he inquires with amusement, "Did he tell you what happened that night?"

"Yes," she spits, her temper flaring—but it's empty defiance. As before, her eyes dare him to contradict her, while her lips aren't so brazen.

Recognizing the subtle manifestation of her doubt, he grins as he calls her bluff. "No." Skywalker might have told her something, but if she truly believed it, she wouldn't be so defensive. "He'd sensed my power," he tells her, "as he senses yours." Since they last spoke, he decided that Skywalker _must_ have seen the darkness in her. She's so artless, so innocent, there's no way she could have hidden it from the Jedi. She must simply not alarm Skywalker like Ren did. "And he feared it."

The memory takes him.

He woke to the screech of a lightsabre igniting. A green glow fell over him as he blinked eyes bleary with sleep. What was going on? He'd just gone to bed. It couldn't possibly be morning already. Lifting his head from where it had lain, he looked over his shoulder to see Master Skywalker.

But it wasn't the Jedi Master he knew; it wasn't his uncle Luke. It was a menacing figure with a visage contorted in fear, horror, and judgment. A demonic creature who wanted to hurt him, whose eyes were alight with a righteous thirst for blood.

The figure lifted its sabre high, poised to strike.

Adrenaline shot through Ben's body, energizing his lethargic limbs. Swiftly reaching out, he called on his own sabre, which flew into his hand from the desk across the room, scattering ink-stained brushes and pieces of parchment. One heartbeat later his blue blade blocked the green one that meant to take his life.

Ben grimaced as his muscles strained; he was not in an advantageous position. Mind skittering with panic, his lone goal to survive, he reached out, pulled—and crushed the demon under stone and plank.

Rey drops her gaze as if she requires a moment to process what he said. He gives her that moment, then another. Finally, she tips her tear-streaked face back up to his. "Liar." But there's no heat behind accusation. It's obligatory.

To convey his seriousness as well as the weight of his next words, he steps toward to her, peering at her closely, ignoring the itch in his fingers that compels him to touch her, wipe away her tears. Could he? Out of curiosity, he wants to try—but doesn't dare. He likes having hands.

Quietly, soberly, he implores her, "Let the past die." She shouldn't let those vile cretins—her so-called parents—matter. She can't; they weaken her. He knows that all too well. If she wants to survive in this world, she needs to repay their inexplicable favor—and leave them behind. He hardens his tone, hoping to communicate that there is no other way; there is no compromise. She either lets them go, or allows them to hold her back. " _Kill it_ …if you have to. That's the only way to become what you were meant to be."

And he's positive that what she's meant to be is his equal. His partner.

His destiny.

.

Never before in her life has she felt so torn.

After he's vanished and she can once again hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore, Rey regards the pocket of air he briefly occupied.

She's beyond confusion. Beyond indecision. Part of her wants to dismiss on principle everything Kylo has to say; wants to believe he's lying, manipulating her, playing his games. But she can't. In all their exchanges, she's never detected even a hint of guile from him. Mockery, yes; challenge, yes; arrogance, yes. But never duplicity.

Under a sky obscured by turbulent gray clouds, she began to empathize with him. Now, in the dark of night, with nothing but thin beams of moonlight to guide her, she grudgingly begins to trust him.

But she refuses to believe Luke isn't telling her the truth. He wouldn't deceive her. He's a Jedi.

 _The legacy of the Jedi is failure. Hypocrisy_.

She doesn't know what to believe. Who to believe. Instinct is advising her to trust Kylo Ren—but she clings to her faith in the Jedi, clings to the stories that gave her hope as a child; the legends of mystical warriors who fought for all that is good and right.

Kylo's voice, advocative and gentle, echoes in her ear. _Don't be afraid. Let the past die._

 _Why?_ she wants to scream.

Why is this happening? Why is it happening to _her_?

Suddenly, the answer to that question matters more than anything else. Once she finally answers the question of _her_ , perhaps everything else will make sense.

She turns around, remembering her first lesson with Luke. Remembering the dark place…calling to her…trying to show her something…something she wants— _needs_ —to see.

As if privvy to her musings, the dark place beckons her.

 _Come…_

Swallowing hard, she goes.

* * *

If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share **excerpts** on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to my site noapologybookreviews . com. Maybe I'll win the lottery and it'll come to the attention of someone at Del Ray. Help me buy tickets, as it were. 😉 Thanks, guys!


	6. Not Alone

To warn you so you aren't reading this and thinking, "What movie did she watch?"

1\. This one took longer to write/polish/publish because…I deviated from the script. Meaning, I made some of it up. One of the few things that irritated me about TLJ was the use of voiceover to transition from the mirror scene to Ben and Rey's fourth Force connection. I felt a bit cheated out of some potentially interesting goings-on; I mean, I can't be the only one who's hypercurious about the beginning of that conversation. Aside from that, voiceovers are better suited to visual mediums; I wasn't sure how to manage a written one. So while I stayed true to the movie—I filled in the blanks, you could say. Because fanfiction.

2\. Well—not _completely_ true to the movie, because there was one thing that confused me. I don't know if I just missed a detail or if there's a continuity error in the film, but when Rey's talking to shirtless Ben, she has her satchel strapped to her, and no quarterstaff that I could see. A short while later, when she's checking out the cave, she has only her holster (I couldn't tell if her blaster was in it or not). By the way the scenes were cut, I was under the impression that she went straight to the cave—but then why didn't she have her bag? Unless she set it down somewhere before she approached the hole? It doesn't make sense to me that she wouldn't have it—more so her staff. She's an intelligent, experienced survivalist, so what is she doing walking around an unfamiliar island at night without protection or emergency supplies? It's a minor detail, but I decided to say that she had them with her and set them down beside the blowhole before she fell in, because it seemed out of character for her not to have them. Maybe it'll be cleared up in the novel. I also make up what the satchel contains. Because fanfiction.

* * *

 _ **Not Alone**_

Waiting. Always waiting.

Rey led a stagnant life, waiting for someday. Someday, when her family would return to Jakku. Someday, when she would learn who she is meant to be, what she is meant to do, where she is meant to go. Someday, when she would know her purpose. Someday, when she would know _why_.

But the answers never came. Instead, she found a droid and stumbled into an adventure.

An adventure that only posed more questions—and held greater consequence for ignorance.

Now, from a dark place, perhaps a dangerous one, those long-awaited answers beckon to her.

 _Come…_

She feels their call like an itch; a pricking, aggravating sensation, one she can either ignore—or relieve with a scratch. And she knows which course of action would provide the most satisfaction. But it could be temporary, the relief; the scratch could prove more harmful than helpful.

Skywalker would have her ignore it. That would be the honorable thing to do, the commendable thing. But she's spent most of her life, nearly twenty years, asking, wondering, waiting. Dreaming. And finally, those answers are within her grasp. She has an opportunity to discover her purpose. To understand _why_.

She's going to take it.

 _Come…_

The dark place lurks as far from the Jedi temple as possible while residing on land. Rey follows the beaten path until it veers from her destination; then she makes her own path, carefully treading over the steep, rocky ground, aided by the dim moonlight that peeks out between drifting clouds and glints off undulating waves.

Anxiety sloshes in her stomach. Her heart pounds against her ribs.

But steely determination drives her reason. The closer she gets, the further her resolve settles.

She arrives at a small, shadowy recession carved out of the shoreline—and feels power wash over her. It's colder here, and though the ocean churns a short distance away, a preternatural stillness claims this spot. Or perhaps it's a sudden stillness inside her. Anticipation.

 _Come…_

Removing the staff and satchel from her back, she sets them aside before crouching and hopping down from the ledge into the alcove, almost slipping as she lands. Since time immemorial, violent ocean spray has worn the rock beneath her feet smooth and glassy.

Steadying herself, she gazes at the natural blowhole that she glimpsed while communing with the Force. When conditions are right, it will give in to pressure and spew seawater into the air. From the opening spills a mass of black, decaying seaweed that resembles tentacles straining for something, anything, to hold onto—or pull inside.

The fine hair on her arms stand erect, but she forges ahead, gingerly kneeling on the slimy, slippery mass of algae.

She can't see inside. Bracing her weight on her hands, she slowly leans over and peers into the hole, because there has to be more. Why would the darkness summon her to this place if this is all there is? There has to be something inside…

 _Come!_

Her hand slips, and she pitches forward, crying out as she falls into the void.

.

Instead of going to bed and getting some rest, as would be wise, Ren showers quickly, dresses…and waits, pacing his rooms, tinkering with his lightsabre, staring blankly into near space in a pathetic effort to meditate.

The mighty Kylo Ren, tied up in knots over some orphan scavenger girl.

An orphan scavenger girl who doesn't comprehend how powerful she is. How important.

And he can't tell her; she needs to figure it out on her own. Impatience and frustration curl inside him like tightly coiled springs, manifesting as a restlessness he hasn't experienced since he began training as a Jedi.

She wouldn't listen to him, anyway. Would she? If she would just realize they don't have to be enemies…

But what if she doesn't figure it out? He'll tell her. And if she remains obtuse? Or worse—if she rejects it? Denies it? What then?

Darkness would reign. And he would survive.

.

When Rey finds her way out of the sea cave, she's met with a solid wall of black–and for a second, she's afraid she's still in the cave, that she can merely hear the roar of the waves echoing through the passage.

Then she sees a flash out of the corner of her eye; turning her head toward it, she catches sight of another. Over the ocean, miles away, a brilliant fork of white lightning spears down through the sky, meeting its distorted likeness on the writhing water. Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance as another storm stalks toward Temple Island. Dense clouds have moved in, obscuring the fickle moonlight that guided her earlier.

She needs shelter, but she wants to retrieve her effects first. Glad to have an objective to focus on, to divert her energy toward something more practical than despair, she carefully picks her way along the rocks and circles around to the blowhole.

Guided by the wide shaft of light provided by the flashlight from her satchel, she sets out for the ancient Jedi village, using her quarterstaff to keep her footing on the uneven terrain.

As she leaves, she's highly aware of the convergence of dark energy behind her. It's silent now, lulled and latent; yet as powerful as ever. As taunting. As cruel.

Stumbling to a halt, she clutches her staff in a white-knuckled grip as despondency closes over her like a heavy shroud.

She received no answers. She's beginning to believe she never will.

Her throat closes, but she swallows back the tears. Mustering her strength, she resumes her trek.

The island is quiet. She hears no porgs cry, no sirens groan; the creatures are likely huddled in their cozy nests, prepared to wait out the storm. Soon Rey will be, too. The thought of a warm fire propels her onward as the rising wind cuts through her wet body like an icy blade.

Cold is not a foreign sensation to her. Nights in the desert could be chilly, and Starkiller Base was an ice planet covered in snow. Yet she has never felt colder than she does in this moment.

When at last she stands among the cluster of stone huts, she pauses to gaze at Skywalker's chosen dwelling, at the door he salvaged from the X-wing that brought him here. As the first drops of rain delicately strike her shoulders, her arms, she detects no movement inside, sees no flicker of flame. Of course not; it's the middle of the night. But she knows, senses, that he's not there.

Loneliness rises in her throat like bile, and a sob bursts from her mouth. This time, she lets the tears come; they mingle with the raindrops on her cheek. Dispirited, she turns toward her own hut.

Pushing aside the ratty old length of wool that serves as her door, she steps inside and props her staff against the circular stone wall. The bright beam of her flashlight bounces around the interior as she shrugs the satchel off her back and, sniffling, drops to her knees with it.

Angling the light to cast the dormant firepit in relief, she weeps quietly as she reaches for the supplies she collected earlier. A hard shudder wracks her small frame as she skillfully constructs a pyre, laying tinder, then kindling. Taking a small igniter from her satchel, she holds the flame to the dry grass until it catches. Once the fire's licking at the kindling, she props a few slender logs over it, then switches off the flashlight and replaces it in her bag.

Listening to the drumming of the rain, the boom and crack of thunder and lightning, Rey kneels before the growing fire, revels in its heat.

And feels like the only person alive in the galaxy.

But it's not the isolation that upsets her. It's the familiarity of it.

As tears drip off her chin into her lap, she squeezes her eyes shut and wishes with all her heart that there was someone, anyone, sitting beside her.

No. Not anyone.

The clatter and boom of the storm disappears so abruptly that her ears ring in its absence.

He's here. As if she conjured him by sheer will alone.

She sighs with profound relief. He'll understand. He won't judge her for going to the cave, for seeking what she needed.

He understands.

.

After failing a second attempt to quiet his mind and meditate—he didn't even bother trying to sleep—Ren resumes pacing.

Halfway through a rotation, he feels her. Spinning around, he—

Goes utterly still as alarm seizes his heart.

She's sunk to her knees, her rounded posture subjective and beaten. Her chest heaves with uneven breaths, hitches audibly in the muted space. Her clothes are sodden, adhered to her body, and somehow her hair's come undone.

What _happened?_

Scrutinizing what he can see of her, he determines that she's unharmed. Uncomfortable, probably; tired—but unharmed.

The restlessness inside him calms.

He senses her fighting spirit has hit an unprecedented low. Words rise to his tongue, false words of mockery and insult he would hurl for the sole purpose of making her angry. He much prefers her fury to her anguish. But a flash-burn rage isn't what she needs; it would be gone quickly, and the moment it was, she'd feel more hollow than she already does.

Not certain what else to do, he simply remains as he is, standing nearby. Present.

.

She opens her eyes and works to steady her breathing. After one wordless minute passes, it occurs to her that it's her turn. He spoke his mind last time; now he wants to know what she did with his advice—which she didn't take so much as let motivate her.

Getting to her feet, she gathers what composure she has left to her and pivots to meet his gaze. While others may shrink before it, his intensity doesn't frighten her; she absorbs his attention like a dry sponge. It makes her feel…important, because he wouldn't give his attention to someone who's less than worthy of it.

No longer crying, no longer quaking, she draws a full, bolstering breath and begins. "There's a cave. It's dark. Cold. It called to me. Whispered in my head. Promised me answers. Guidance. I…"

She glances away as she recollects the fear in Skywalker's wizened blue eyes during their first lesson.

 _You went straight to the dark. It offered something you needed, and you didn't even try to stop yourself._

Lifting her chin defiantly, she declares, "I went to it."

.

Ren's acquainted with the lure of the darkness. It pursues you relentlessly, tempts you with things you desire and covet, tells you it's your right to take them. It lurks in the shadows until you're totally vulnerable, truly desperate; then it emerges as a lifeline. Like an opportunity. An option.

The only option available to you.

His eyes track her as she turns away, dodges something, then bends slightly and reaches down. A thick woven blanket materializes in her hand; she wraps it around herself as she moves to sit. He quickly pulls up a chair of his own.

.

"There was a mirror," Rey continues. "In the cave. I walked up to it, and when I touched it—I became my reflection." She frowns; it doesn't sound at all rational. But then, the very nature of the Force defies logic.

"I turned around—and saw I stood at the end of a long line of me. Of reflections. I lifted my hand—and so did the others. I snapped my fingers, and they did, too, with only the briefest of moments between each one. I thought it was a timeline— _my_ timeline." Staring into the fire, she furrows her brow. "But then I realized—they're _reflections_. Versions of me. Possibilities. The mirror was showing me why I was there."

She pauses, embarrassed to be admitting this to anyone, let one Kylo Ren. But…it doesn't feel wrong. "Because I don't know who I am. Which reflection is the one I'm supposed to be.

"I should have felt trapped or panicked. But I didn't. This didn't go on forever, I knew it was leading somewhere. That at the end, it would show me what I came to see.

"I touched the mirror again—asked it to let me see them. My parents. A shape appeared in the mirror, walking towards me. At times it seemed like two shapes; at others, just one casting a shadow. It came closer, and closer—until it stood before me."

She remembers her heart pounding, her lungs drawing quick and shallow breaths. Finally, she would know the answers. Finally, her life would have meaning.

"Then the mirror cleared—and I saw only myself. Just me. Just another reflection."

The enormity of her disappointment was such that she felt she would implode. She fell to her knees, devastated, and wept bitterly.

Her eyes fill again now in shades of sorrow. "I thought I'd find answers here. I was wrong." She heeded the call of the darkness, believing it would give her what it promised. And she left with less than when she'd come. "I'd never felt so alone."

When he speaks, his voice is husky, thick with emotion, so soft it's barely a whisper. Tentative, as though unsure how the words it offers will be received.

"You're not alone."

She looks up—and in the unfathomable wells of his ebony eyes, she sees another version of _him_.

The man who sits before her is not Kylo Ren. The man who gazes at her with tears of sympathy—empathy—in his eyes is not a leader of the First Order. The man who listened to her tale in respectful silence; the man who offers words of comfort–

This man is Ben Solo.

She saw his conflicted beliefs and emotions, but she didn't look beyond them. Now, however, she realizes his conflict stems from a question of identity—just as hers does. When Ben Solo proved weak, vulnerable, painful, he became Kylo Ren. But it's not his truth; Ben Solo's breaking through, like a watery ray of sunlight parting the clouds.

Ben Solo, the boy who was loved—but who lost his way. The boy who is still lost.

As is she.

 _You're not alone._

Again she feels that profound relief. Because he understands.

And so does she. She wants him to know that. Holding his gaze, she responds sincerely, "Neither are you."

She doesn't need to turn Kylo Ren to the light. She needs only take Ben Solo's hand, so that they might find their way together.

.

He gave her the words he's longed to hear but has never been told, wanting to ease her pain in a way his has never diminished.

A short while ago, Snoke accused Ren of feeling compassion for the girl who seemed to thwart him at every turn. Ren denied it—but the Supreme Leader was right.

He cares for Rey. She's fascinated him from the start. Deep inside his mind, his heart, he recognized her on an instinctive level, a mystical one. He didn't know what it meant, what he should do about it. But now he does.

They're meant to be together. To stand beside one another. To unite against their oppressors. To change the galaxy.

Her expression as she comes to the same conclusion—skeptical, scared, yearning, hopeful—is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

With that expression, she says softly, earnestly, "It isn't too late." As if she really believes it.

Maybe she does.

Does he?

Before he can decide, can respond, she moves. Slowly, deliberately, she lifts her arm…and extends her hand to him.

He glances down at it, then back up at her face, where wages the war he feels inside himself: fear of weakness versus fear of isolation.

Yet her hand doesn't waver.

For once, he doesn't calculate, doesn't think about what they could accomplish with the combined strength of their power. All he can see is her open hand. All he can sense is her open mind.

All he can think is that this is what he's been searching for. What he's searched for for so long that he forgot he was searching for it.

His entire life…he's waited for someone to see past the dark and notice _him_. His mother, his father, his uncle, his master—they all saw him as a reflection of his grandfather. Of Darth Vader. That's what they expected from him, no matter what he did to counter the notion. They looked at him and saw his potential for evil.

But Rey looks at him…and sees his potential for good.

His pulse thrumming in his ears, he removes his glove. Willing his fingers steady, he extends his own hand…gazes into her eyes, her soul…and, across space, touches his warm flesh to hers.

A scene unfolds before his mind's eye.

"We goin' or what?" demands a sweaty, disheveled woman as she plants her hands on her ample hips. "I'm sick-a this desert."

A few feet away, an equally scruffy man with a ruddy face flaps his hand at her, the gesture translating as, _Shut up_. Leaning on the counter of a small shack, he wheedles, "C'mon, Plutt. I'll pay ya back. With interest."

The ugly, gelatinous creature on the other side of the counter remains unimpressed. "No."

"I'll bring ya a droid. Two droids. I know some Jawas on Tatooine."

"Move it," barks someone in line to barter with Plutt. "I'm hungry."

"Let's _go_ ," the woman hollers impatiently.

The man shoots her a glare. "I'm tryin' to negotiate here."

She rolls her eyes and marches through the sand toward the shack. "Ya want the girl?" she asks Plutt, jerking her head to indicate the elfin child who follows her, gazing with curiosity at the various species visiting the outpost.

Plutt leans his bulk forward to peer down at the oblivious child. Breathing loudly and murmuring to himself as he deliberates, he finally agrees. "I could use a slave."

"Hey, all right!" the man exclaims delightedly, smacking the flat of his hand on the counter. "First stop—the cantina!"

While he handles the transaction, the woman turns to the child and snaps her fingers. "Pay attention." The girl obeys instantly. "We're gonna go get the ship ready. You stay here and wait. We'll come back for you."

The girl frowns but nods, staring after them when they go. "Stay right there, girl," the ugly jelly man growls down at her. She returns her gaze to her parents, who board the starship stationed a short distance away.

As the ship's ramp begins to close, the girl breaks into a run, her round, freckled face twisting with fear.

The engine comes to life with a whine and a hum. The ship hovers above the ground for a moment, then slowly takes to the sky.

Her brow puckered with confusion, the girl stops and watches it depart with tears trailing down her cheeks.

When a fat hand grabs her arm, she twists her head to see the ugly jelly man. He tugs, pulling her back toward the shack.

"No!" she screams, resisting him and staring after the ship that gradually disappears from sight. "Come back!"

"Quiet, girl," Plutt grunts.

She glances up at him with dismay, then cries again to the ship. "No!"

The scene changes, to a different time, a different place, and Ben glimpses the lifeless bodies of the man and woman baking in the desert sun, slowly being covered by shifting sands.

 _"Stop!"_

Startled out of the vision, Ben whips his head toward the intruder, has only a scant second to recognize Skywalker. Then both he and Rey are gone, leaving Ben sitting alone in his private chambers aboard the _Supremacy_ , his hand still outstretched.

.

 _"Stop!"_

The hut flies apart, stones sailing in all directions. Rey jumps, her eyes darting toward Skywalker, who stands with his feet planted and his arm raised. She quickly looks back to Ben—but he's vanished.

Without shelter, the torrential downpour immediately drenches her and extinguishes the fire with a hiss. But she doesn't care. She doesn't feel the wet or the cold as fury simmers inside her.

She stands, fists clenched, and confronts the Jedi Master. "Is it true?" she demands, no longer willing to accept non-answers and half-truths. "Did you try to murder him?"

"Leave this island _now_." With a whirl of his shawl, he spins around and strides away.

No. Not this time. She scrambles after him. "Stop," she orders, but he refuses to acknowledge her.

The simmer comes to a rolling boil. _"Stop!"_ Walking away from a problem doesn't solve it; walking away from a person doesn't silence them. She wants an answer. She wants the truth. Now.

Picking up her quarterstaff from where it fell, she uses it to shove at his back and knock him to the ground. "Did you do it? Did you create Kylo Ren?"

Instead of answering, he glares at her and surges to his feet. But she's not letting him go anywhere, not until he deals her straight. She raises her staff to knock him down again—but he summons a lightning rod off a structure nearby and uses it to parry her blow.

She's ready for a fight. In that moment, Skywalker represents all those who left her behind, who lied to her, who made her feel unworthy and insignificant. Her movements wild with rage, with pain, she swings at him, again and again as the rain pours down and lightning flashes overhead.

Because her movements are broad and unfocused, he manages to land a blow on her back. It's a check. A reminder of who's in charge.

Her fury boils over. With a snarl, she goes on the offensive, driving him back as he struggles to defend himself. No doubt he's out of practice—but not so out of practice that he doesn't present a challenge.

When he's had enough, he doesn't block her next blow—he merely catches her staff in his hand and tosses it aside.

She doesn't hesitate. Before her staff hits the ground, she's called his lightsabre into her hand and raised it, bearing down on him. In his haste to retreat, he trips and falls to the stone steps behind him, though he uses the Force to slow his descent.

She's won. As her temper cools to a simmer once again, she lowers the sabre to her side.

Squinting through the rain, Skywalker looks up at her with an expression she can't place: surprise mixed with a hint of wariness–and a generous dose of resignation.

As she deactivates the sabre, she commands, "Tell me the truth."

He's quiet as he recalls the unpleasant memory. Staring at something she can't see, he completes the picture.

"I saw darkness. I'd sensed it building in him. I'd seen it in moments during his training. But then I looked inside…and it was beyond what I ever imagined. Snoke had already turned his heart.

"He would bring destruction and pain and death and the end of everything I loved because of what he would become. And for the briefest moment of pure instinct, I thought I could stop it.

"It passed like a fleeting shadow. And I was left with shame—and with consequence. And the last thing I saw were the eyes of a frightened boy, whose master had failed him."

It explains so much—Ben's hatred for the Jedi, the light, the side he was taught to serve but that ultimately betrayed him; Luke locking himself away where he didn't have to look his sister in the eye, where he could surround himself with the original principles of the Jedi and wallow in shame for following the same self-destructive path as his predecessors.

He was correct–the events unfolding at present are, in part, a result of his hubris; as a Jedi Master, he thought he knew best, and made an assumption he had no right to make.

"You failed him by thinking his choice was made," she explains. "It wasn't. There's still conflict inside him. If he would turn from the dark side, that could shift the tide. This could be how we win."

His features tight with frustration, he insists, "This is not going to go the way you think."

Now, she knows how it all began—and she knows how to end it. Excited, earnest, she crouches on the ground before him. "It is. Just now, when we touched hands—" In awe, she gives her head a slight shake. "I _saw_ his future. As solid as I'm seeing you. If I go to him, Ben Solo _will turn_."

"Rey," Luke pleads quietly. " _Don't_ do this."

She gazes at him, baffled. Why doesn't he want to try to save his nephew? Has he no hope left at all?

She'll give him one final chance. Standing, she lifts her brows and extends the lightsabre hilt toward him, inviting him to take it. Knowing he won't.

And he doesn't.

As he closes his eyes in defeat and averts his head, she lowers her arm. Somehow, she's still disappointed. "Then he's our last hope."

Retrieving her staff, she leaves the Jedi where he lies, already planning her trip from the birthplace of the Jedi Order into the clutches of those would see it obliterated.

She's done waiting.

Her name is Rey. She's with the Resistance. And her purpose is to save Ben Solo.

* * *

If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share **excerpts** on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to my site noapologybookreviews . com. Maybe I'll win the lottery and it'll come to the attention of someone at Del Ray. Help me buy tickets, as it were. :) Thanks, guys!


	7. His True Enemy

**Note:** I don't understand how the STUPID ESCAPE POD worked in the movie, and neither of the books were forthcoming with details. In the movie, she goes through like this manhole to get to it, whereas I just have her lie down in it right there in front of Chewie–it's easier to follow.

Once she lands in the _Supremacy_ hangar, I originally thought the door lifted, opening the pod, but I realized I can see the overhead lights reflecting in the glass of the viewport, so I guess the vapor was from the landing process and it hadn't opened yet?

I also don't understand how the lighting inside it worked, or if/what she could see out of the viewport. When she first launches, we can see her illuminated inside through the window, but when she lands, the interior is mostly dark, then I can just barely see shutters retracting, letting light in.

But why would the window get covered, and at what point did the shutters close? What on earth kind of vessel can you drive without looking where you're going? _Does_ she drive it? Or is it preset with coordinates and she just hops in and hopes for the best? Is there no manual override in case of complications? Or did they know the Order would draw it in with a tractor beam or something?

I just have so many questions. Nothing about that escape pod makes sense to me, and I can't find a decent resource explaining the process. The author of the novel described some things down to the nuts and bolts and left others completely unexplained. SO…ya'll are just going to have to live with what I wrote. Because fanfiction.

And yes, "save Ben Solo, save the Resistance," is an homage to "save the cheerleader, save the world." 😉

* * *

 ** _His True Enemy_**

The _Millennium Falcon_ hurtles through hyperspace, heading toward the coordinates being transmitted via the homing beacon Rey has worn on her wrist. General Organa carries its mate, and as it has yet to stop transmitting a signal, Rey, Chewbacca, and R2-D2 feel safe to assume that the Resistance escaped D'Qar.

They also feel it's safe to assume that where the Resistance is, the First Order is not far behind.

As Rey crouches to enter the small, cramped bay where the ship's escape pod is stored, she can practically feel the worry and doubt emanating from her shipmates, who linger in the corridor; but they don't move to stop her, respecting her decision, and she's grateful.

She's going to Ben. It's not a good plan, as Chewie frequently reminds her. But it's the only plan Rey has. Her mission to retrieve Luke failed spectacularly; however, the Force showed her another way. She _knows_ if she goes to Ben, he'll come back to the light. She's not exactly sure how or why—visions don't extend to details—but she considers putting herself at the mercy of the enemy a trial; a test of courage and faith—in Ben, in the Force. And in herself.

The moment they departed from Ahch-To, Rey ducked into the ship's refresher, where she discarded her soaked, soiled clothes and donned dry second-hand apparel given to her during her brief stay with the Resistance on D'Qar. She left her hair loose around her neck; it was…freeing.

As she studied her reflection in the mirror over the sink, she'd thought of the cave and the infinite line of Reys. But there was only one face in the mirror aboard the _Falcon_ , and that face wasn't the lost girl from Jakku. It was the face of a young woman who had seized control of her life and decided to fight for what she believes. It was a young woman who would restore Ben Solo to the light and by so doing save the galaxy from oppression.

It's as large a task as they come. A lot of pressure. And after a life of sitting in a nearly uninhabited desert, alone and directionless, she embraces the challenge.

"As soon as I launch, you jump back out of range," she instructs the other two as she climbs into the narrow escape pod that can accommodate only one. She ignores its resemblance to a dingy metal coffin. "Stay there until you get my signal for where to rendezvous."

The silver-and-blue domed astromech beeps a confirmation. Chewie growls his disapproval once again; she doesn't respond.

"If you see Finn before I do, tell him…" She trails off, at a loss for words to describe her experience on the island. All that has happened.

And…she didn't think till now—how would she reconcile Ben with…everyone else?

She'll worry about that later. She has to reconcile Ben with the light, first.

Chewie yowls a suggestion, and she gives him a small smile. "Yeah, perfect. Tell him that." The Wookiee nods his great hairy head.

She inhales deeply, tightens her grip on Luke's lightsabre, then expels the breath and lies down in the pod.

Chewie closes the hatch, and suddenly she's alone. One small girl against an army of thousands.

But not for long. Not if her vision was true.

 _You're not alone._

She launches from the _Falcon_ and feels a wave of vertigo as the pod tumbles through space before the drive system kicks in. When it does, the interior goes dark, removing the glare from the viewport and allowing her look outside. Not that there's much to see; only the infinite black void of space, and distant stars winking from lightyears away.

Then the interior of a hangar appears—pipes and catwalks, rafters and beams—all black and gray and chrome and blinding white lights.

The pod slows; her heartbeat quickens. The thrusters grow quiet; her breaths come louder. Her nerves jumping, she startles and gasps when the pod lands with a thud and a clank. She blinks up at the lights in the hangar ceiling.

Then with a puff of vapor, the hatch unlocks and rises; the interior light once again illuminates her. The moment the door no longer obstructs her line of sight, her gaze is drawn as if by an instinctive magnet to a familiar pair of dark, fathomless eyes.

His expression is blank. Flat. She scrutinizes his strong features, searching for any trace of emotion, finding none. Her brows dip along with her confidence. What is he thinking? Is he glad she came? Dismayed, angry?

Did she make a terrible mistake?

No. He still has a reputation as Kylo Ren to maintain among the Order; he must be concealing his emotions from the sake of the troopers. She doesn't want to think that, after everything, Ben would try to hide from her.

He moves aside, authority in his bearing, and a pair of stormtroopers step forward; one holds a rifle at the ready, the other brandishes a set of binders.

She wasn't fool enough to expect a warm welcome, but are restraints necessary? She came voluntarily.

Reputation. Procedure. She is the enemy.

She'll submit. For now.

.

After commandeering Skywalker's sabre, Ren marches Rey to the turbolift. Inside, he stands at the back, his eyes fixed on a point above her head.

When their last connection was severed, Ren worried for Rey's safety, alone wherever she was with Skywalker. But he quickly realized the old man was no match for an angry Rey—and she _would_ be angry when she confirmed that the Jedi had lied to her. That betrayal would chase her away, and Ren knew she would come to him–because he's never lied to her. She would feel safe with him, as absurd as that might sound.

But despite how she might feel, she's _not_ safe here.

He has to take her to Snoke. If he doesn't, they're both dead. He never told Snoke about their connection through the Force, but Snoke sensed Ren was soft toward her long before Ren admitted it to himself. Yes, the Supreme Leader will be eager to meet her.

And Ren's not a fool. Perhaps for a moment he tried to convince himself Snoke might find use for her, might keep her as a pet…but that wasn't realistic. Rey would never subject herself to Snoke, not willingly, and Snoke wouldn't allow her live outside of his command. She's too powerful, too much of a threat; a variable in Snoke's equation. So Snoke will play with her, taunt her, bat her around for his amusement. And when he tires of play, he'll take from her what he will.

Then the Supreme Leader will expect Ren to kill her. Like he killed his father. Like he should have killed his mother.

But he won't kill Rey.

By simply existing, she has given him an option he hardly allowed himself to entertain, for it had seemed a ludicrous fantasy. Before her, he was alone. He thought his conflicted soul was a weakness, a fault. His parents viewed it as such, as did Luke—and even Snoke, though he taught Ren that the light, while a weakness, has its uses.

But Rey showed Ren that the conflict which has plagued him all his life doesn't have to be a weakness.

 _You're not alone._

 _Neither are you._

It's time to move forward. No more masters. As an apprentice, he always failed to realize his potential. But as a partner in power…

But how does one defeat the invincible? Everyone has a weakness. What is Snoke's?

"You don't have to do this."

And how can Ren use it against him?

"I feel the conflict in you," Rey says. "It's tearing you apart."

Yes, because he fights it. He's fought it for nearly thirty years, and the struggle never eased. It worsened. Clearly, he's been going about it all wrong. He needs to embrace it. Soon, with all masters gone and Rey at his side, he will.

"Ben."

The name jolts him out of his thoughts; his eyes dart to her. For years, that name was dead to him—and then his father called out to him. Reached out to him.

 _Ben! Take off that mask. You don't need it. Not here. Not with me._

Rey uttered the name; the rest he can read in her gaze.

But the indifferent facade he currently wears isn't meant for her. For her, he removed his mask a long time ago.

"When we touched hands, I saw your future. Just the shape of it, but solid and clear." She steps toward him, and he starts to shake his head; the less communion Snoke witnesses between them, the better. But the denial's half-hearted at best; he wants her near.

"You will not bow before Snoke," she asserts, then glances away, as if unsure–not of the words themselves, but if she should be delivering them to him. After only a heartbeat, though, her eyes come back to his and hold for a long moment. With that, he knows she's giving him the entire truth. At least, _her_ entire truth. "You'll turn. I'll help you," she promises quietly, swaying closer as if to emphasize the sentiment with proximity. "I saw it."

But visions of the future are vague, fickle things; imprecise and easily misinterpreted. What exactly did she see?

It doesn't matter. After everything–even after Skywalker himself admitted to attempted murder–she still believes there's a definitive line drawn between the dark and the light. He doesn't hold it against her; she's young, naive, and a novice in the ways of the Force. Eventually, she'll realize it's not so simple. She'll come to the conclusion that they've connected for a specific reason; and then at last, she'll comprehend that they are a law unto themselves.

But he's tired of waiting for her to understand. He thought she did the last time they saw each other, but he must have been mistaken.

Confronting Snoke could be a turning point in their lives–if they survive–and he wants to know they'll face the same direction when it's over.

Reveling in her nearness, he whispers, "I saw something, too."

More solid than the future, it was the past.

When they first met, he felt a queer sense of familiarity, though he knew they'd never crossed paths before. Seeking an explanation, he delved into her mind and beheld her life as a scavenger; she was lonely, isolated, waiting for someone to return for her. But he sensed something else, darker, a knot of pain buried deep inside: the knowledge that she could hope until the stars died—but no one was ever going to come back for her. She'd been cast off like unwanted clutter. Much as he had been.

He wondered who could be so callous, so cold; wondered what they cared about if not Rey.

When they touched, the Force showed him.

He remembers the desert, and the dirty couple itching to leave so that they might seek a more hospitable environment—such as a cantina. But they were broke and had nothing to sell—except a curious little girl, her downy brown hair pulled back into three tiny buns. And, without a second thought, sell her they did.

She didn't deserve abandonment.

Neither did he. No one does.

"Because of what I saw," he murmurs, "I know when the time comes, you'll be the one to turn. You'll stand with me." She won't abandon him; she won't continue the cycle. They'll find a place where neither of them has to strive for one ideal or the other. A place where they can't fail.

Her expression shifts, her earnestness disappearing behind a wall of caution.

"Rey." He pauses, conveying to her the significance of his words. "I saw who your parents are."

 _I know they're scum. I know they threw you away. But I won't, and never will._

But she doesn't hear his silent vow. She backs away from him, no longer confident and close, but wary and withdrawn. She's questioning her vision, questioning her trust in him, all because of a crime she's afraid to acknowledge and make true. She has no idea how high she could soar if she would only let go of that to which she desperately clings. His eyes follow her, willing her to understand what's happening.

She sees beyond the darkness in him, and he appreciates the darkness in her.

When Snoke is gone, when Skywalker is gone, when all the ignoramuses who would limit them are gone…

Together, he and Rey will change the galaxy.

.

The lift comes to a halt with a mechanical whir, and the doors slide open. Turning away from Ben, Rey takes in a large, open chamber with high red walls that reflect off a shiny black floor. An obsidian throne dominates the space. Seated upon it is a decrepit creature who, by appearance alone, one wouldn't think dangerous; yet his gaunt form exudes power. It burns in his wizened gaze and lurks behind his smirk.

Rey's concerns about Ben fall to the back of her mind as Snoke's potent presence fills the forefront. She barely registers the crimson sentinels spread out around the edge of the chamber, or the cloaked figures standing off to the right. Her attention is centered, almost involuntarily, on the creature robed in gold.

Ben ushers her forward with a gloved hand on her arm, his touch neither rough nor gentle. As they stride into the chamber, the creature speaks, his voice deep, menacing. "Well done, my good and faithful apprentice. My faith in you is restored."

The hand leaves her arm; Ben's warmth leaves her side. And though she cannot see him, she knows he's bowing before his master.

Apprehension trickles down her spine, but her features remain set and resolute.

Her vision will come to pass. It will.

"Young Rey," purrs Supreme Leader Snoke, mocking her with a hideous grin. "Welcome."

With a low beep, the binders around Rey's wrists unlock and fall to the floor with a quiet clatter. She shakes her hands to restore circulation.

"Come closer, child," Snoke orders.

She glares at him, unwilling to be commanded by the hateful wretch. He has enough subjects at his beck and call.

Ignoring her defiance, he seems to muse aloud. "So much strength. Darkness rises…" He lifts first his right hand, palm up and open, then his left. "And light to meet it." Almost reverently, he clasps his hands together. "I warned my young apprentice that as he grew stronger, his equal in the light would rise."

Rey doesn't flinch when Luke's lightsabre whisks past her and into Snoke's grasp. "Skywalker, I assumed," he admits with a light chuckle as he places the gleaming hilt on the wide armrest of the black throne. "Wrongly."

For a moment, he regards her with pale, piercing blue eyes. "Closer, I said."

Her feet leave the floor, and she begins to float toward the dais, her arms stiff at her sides, her fists clenched. There is nothing more frightening than being unable to move when every instinct is telling you to _run_ –and he knows it.

While the hair on the back of her neck stands erect, she speaks with firm conviction, ignoring any doubts she might harbor. She believes in the Force, in her vision. "You underestimate Skywalker. And Ben Solo. And me." Her rigid body follows the incline of the dais until she hovers before the throne. "It will be your downfall."

In a deeply creased face marred by grotesque scars, his features contort with anxiety. "Have you seen something? A weakness in my apprentice? Is that why you came?"

Her eyes gleam with triumph as she strains her limbs to overthrow his influence.

Then he laughs, and her stomach drops.

"Young fool," he chortles before falling sober. "It was _I_ who bridged your minds."

.

Ren glances up sharply, everything inside him gone still.

"I stoked Ren's conflicted soul," Snoke boasts. "I knew he was not strong enough to hide it from you."

 _A cur's weakness, properly manipulated, can be a sharp tool._

He knew. Snoke has been in control the entire time. He's maneuvered them like puppets on a string. Ren never had secret knowledge, never had power over him.

Resentment burns in his chest. He gave everything to Snoke when he joined the dark side–but he wanted to keep Rey and their connection to himself. She was meant for _him_. But Snoke orchestrated their meetings; he was behind it all. She only _seemed_ to be meant for him.

No. The bond was there. That familiarity, the fascination. And Snoke used it against him. The best thing that had ever happened to him, and it was used to manipulate him. To hurt Rey.

His own weakness will have destroyed their partnership before it even began.

No.

That's wrong. Snoke's wrong.

Rey isn't Ren's weakness.

She's his motivation.

Snoke presumes his authority is absolute. Presumes he's omnipotent. Omniscient. He sees all, knows all.

But he's wrong.

How to use his arrogance against him?

.

"And _you_ ," Snoke taunts Rey, "were not wise enough to resist the bait."

Her stomach rolls with dread.

He knows about the light inside Ben. He wanted them to sympathize with one another.

They did exactly what he wanted them to do. They have no advantage.

"And now, you will give me Skywalker," the Supreme Leader hisses, his warped countenance twisting into a snarl. Leaning forward in his seat, he cups his massive hand around her head. Pressure builds inside her skull; she grits her teeth, her chest heaving. "Then I will kill you with the cruelest stroke."

Concentrating all her energy on resisting his mental assault, she snaps, "No."

 _"Yes."_ Thrusting out his arm, he propels her across the chamber and suspends her in midair. "Give. Me. _Everything_."

When Ben searched her mind in the holding cell on Starkiller Base, she was barely able to think beyond the pain. Now, she realizes just how gentle he'd been.

As her mind is rent and torn, her memories and dreams mauled and shoved aside, coherent thought slips away, and her world dissolves into an boundless state of abject agony.

.

Horror and guilt consume Ben as he stares up at her small, quivering frame. He knew something like this could happen. _Would_ —but there's a marked difference between knowing it's possible and seeing it done.

And there's nothing he can do. Nothing that wasn't failed before it was attempted.

When she begins to whimper, he drops his eyes to the floor. He can't watch.

And then she screams, guttural, mindless. And screams. And screams.

And screams.

.

After minutes—days—weeks—Rey drops to the floor with a sickening thud. No longer paralyzed, she rolls onto her side, groaning and grimacing, her teeth clenched. Black spots dance in her vision; the room spins. She makes a concentrated effort to keep the contents of her stomach where they belong.

Snoke chuckles, the sound raking over her scalp like razor-sharp claws. "I did not expect Skywalker to be so _wise_. We will give him and the Jedi Order the death he desires," he proclaims with sinister satisfaction, gazing straight at her, goading her as she props herself up on one arm. "After the Rebels are gone, we will go to his planet and obliterate the entire island."

 _After the Rebels are gone._

No. He can hurt her, but he won't hurt her friends. She won't let him. Rage erupts, supplying her with the energy to shove to her feet and throw out her hand, calling to Luke's sabre. It streaks toward her—then goes wide, circling around Ben and coming back to smack her upside the head. Crying out, she doubles over as the blow aggravates her resultant headache from the invasion. When the pain has ebbed, she straightens to see that the sabre has returned to it's former position next to Snoke.

"Such spunk. Look here now." Commanding her body once again, he leisurely waves a finger and shoves her through the air toward a large magnified viewing scope. Grimacing, she studies it, wondering what she's supposed to see—then the red wall parts, revealing a viewport and, beyond that, a fleet of small shuttles. As she watches, a green laser bolt crashes into one of the vulnerable vessels; the shuttle explodes in a burst of flame.

As if struck by a cold draft, her skin prickles in alarm as she realizes what she's looking at. With wide, horrified eyes, she watches another green bolt collide with a shuttle, destroying it.

 _Finn. Leia._

"The entire Resistance, on those transports. Soon they will all be gone. For you," Snoke hisses with malevolent delight, "all is lost."

Not yet. Teeth bared, she reaches toward Ben's impassive form and calls his lightsabre from his belt. He looks up, but she doesn't pause to read his expression.

Maybe he won't fight, but she will. She'll fight to her dying breath. It's her purpose—save Ben Solo, save the Resistance. Save the only things that have given her life meaning. She can't help Ben if he won't help himself, but she can defend her friends.

The moment Ben's sabre hits her palm, she brings it to snapping, frenetic life and assumes a combative stance. Around the room, the guards in crimson armor do the same.

"Oh!" Snoke exclaims with approval. "Still that fiery spit of hope. You have the spirit of a _true_ Jedi!"

His mockery spurs her, and with a fierce growl, she charges toward him. As she draws near, she raises the sabre to strike.

He merely flicks his fingers, and she goes flying.

.

Rey cries out as she arcs through the air. Ren's sabre is torn out of her hand and deactivated before clattering against the floor. It slides to a point directly in front of him; he watches it slowly spin to a halt.

And watching it, knows what to do.

"And because of that," Snoke says to Rey, "you must die." With a careless gesture, he forces her upright and rotates her to kneel before Ren.

"My worthy apprentice. Son of darkness. Heir apparent to Lord Vader."

Ren looks up as Snoke addresses him–too little, too late. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he works through the plan in his mind.

The Supreme Leader is so confident in his control, his authority, his greater power, that it doesn't occur to him to pay any mind to the weapon resting beside him.

But the last time Ren tried to command the Skywalker sabre, it rebuffed him. What if it does so now?

He'll take the chance; it's the only one he has.

"Where there was conflict, I now sense resolve. Where there was weakness, strength. Complete your training—and _fulfill your destiny_."

Bending, Ren gingerly picks up his sabre and stands, his gaze locked on Rey.

His destiny.

Panting in pain as she fights Snoke's control, Rey watches Ren warily. "I know what I have to do," he calmly confides. It's an ambiguous statement spoken with ambiguous inflection; he could be addressing either Rey or Snoke. But it's not Snoke's gaze Ren holds steady.

.

Ben said the same thing to Han a moment before he killed him. _I know what I have to do, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it._

He doesn't seem at all uncertain now. Despite the commonalities she and Ben have discovered, despite the empathy and comfort each has provided for the other, will she, too, be a sacrifice to his pursuit of power?

Tendrils of panic coil around Rey's heart. _Her vision, her vision._ But visions can be wrong. The course of events can be altered. Can't they?

"Ben," she breathes, willing him to remember how far they've come in such a short time; willing him to know that she meant what she said.

 _You're not alone._

 _Neither are you._

Hearing the name and the entreaty with which it was spoken, Snoke scoffs. "You think you can turn him? Pathetic child. _I cannot be betrayed._ I see his mind. I see his every intent. _Yes_. I see him turning the lightsabre to strike true."

Slowly, Ren lifts his sabre until it's aimed at her heart.

Helpless tears well and spill onto her cheeks. She won't beg; but neither will she disguise her fear, her aching heart—or her hope. _Don't do this, Ben. There's good in you. I believe it. Please don't do this._

His jaw clenches; his throat works.

"And now, foolish child," Snoke growls with disdain, "he ignites it—and _kills_ his true enemy!"

She hears a sabre screech as it's activated–and has only a fraction of a second to realize it wasn't Ren's before she collapses to the floor. Bewildered, she cranes her neck to see what could have broken Snoke's concentration so abruptly. It couldn't be–

It is.

A glowing blue blade juts from the Supreme Leader's side.

While she gapes, Luke's lightsabre slices through Snoke's midsection—and continues straight toward her as the upper half of his body tumbles to the floor.

Her heart thundering in her ears, elation seeping into the very marrow of her bones, she snatches the sabre out of the air and pushes to her feet.

He chose her. He chose the light.

She succeeded.

Dismissing his slain master, Ren lowers his wide eyes to hers; the indifference is gone, and she wades through a glorious swirl of emotions in their dark, dark depths. The remnants of fear quickly fade, as does the astonishment. Revealed in their departure is a firm decision–as well as a thorough absence of regret.

He ignites his sabre, washing his countenance in the color of blood and power as exhilaration floods him. He seems ready, almost too ready, to begin this bright new era. But his eyes question her: _Are you with me?_

In her periphery, the guards rush forward, weapons lit, eager to spill the enemy's blood and avenge their leader. But she's not afraid.

In answer to him, she sucks in a long breath, sets her jaw, and whirls to face their adversaries, knowing Ben will protect her blindside. As she will protect his.

Not a trace of doubt remains.

They're in this together.

Just as she saw in her vision.

* * *

If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share **excerpts** on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to my site: noapologybookreviews . com. Maybe I'll win the lottery and it'll come to the attention of someone at Del Ray. Help me buy tickets, as it were. 😉 Thanks, guys!


	8. Let Old Things Die

_**Let Old Things Die**_

Snoke is dead, the Praetorian guard defeated. But the First Order continues to fire on the Resistance transports fleeing to Crait, picking them off one by one. Knowing there's no time to lose—lost time is lost lives—Rey rushes to the magnifying glass and calls to Ben urgently, "The fleet. Order them to stop firing."

Lost in his thoughts—a whirling parade of possibilities—and breathing heavily as a result of the fight, Ben doesn't respond as he regards the throne and Snoke's corpse with disbelief.

A trickle of foreboding slides down Rey's spine. What's stopping him? He vanquished Snoke, and together they beat the guards. They're on the same side now. He turned, just as she saw in her vision. So why he is allowing good people, innocent people, to die?

Maybe he doesn't realize. He looks a little dazed. Killing his master was a bold move, a brave feat. She's immeasurably proud of him, but the danger hasn't yet passed. She simply needs to break through his shock and remind him what's at stake. Cautiously, quietly, with the acrid scent of smoke stinging her nostrils, she prompts, "Ben?"

A glimmer akin to excitement, to hope, flares to life in his eyes, warming the deep brown. "It's time to let old things die," he declares. "Snoke. Skywalker."

Turning, he slowly approaches her, looking her straight in the eye and willing her to share his resolution. "The Sith. The Jedi. The Rebels. Let it all die. Rey." He swallows hard and extends his hand to her as if it's the most important thing he's ever done, could ever do, in his life. "I want you to join me."

Rey's face falls, and the spark of trust he recently inspired in her sputters like a weak flame battered by a strong gust.

"We can rule together and bring a new order to the galaxy," he says eagerly, earnestly.

Her mind balks as her heart stutters. What is he saying? That he _wants_ the Resistance to die? No, she won't believe it. That's not something the Ben Solo she bonded with would want.

But Kylo Ren would.

All of her budding hopes, her dewy dreams, fall like stars in the night sky. She shakes her head. "Ben, don't do this." Rising despair thickens her voice. "Please don't go this way."

Frustrated, because she's not _listening_ to him, he raises his voice. It cracks like a whip through the air. "No, no, you're still _holding on! Let go!_ "

 _Let's wipe the slate clean and start a new way of life, a new way of thinking, as only you and I can. Together._

His aggressive tone further dims her tentative trust, and as a disappointment more devastating than she could have predicted crashes over her, tears blur her vision. She recognizes the fervent gleam in his eyes, hears the relish with which he speaks of carnage. Her stomach knots.

 _How can I make her understand this opportunity? Make her understand that this is all happening for reason? Does she still not see her place in all this?_

She gave him the courage to destroy the bane of his existence; the least he could do is return the favor. "Do you want to know the truth about your parents?" he asks, his tone a bit gentler. She says nothing; her expression doesn't change. And it occurs to him—"Or have you always known?"

Her brow creases with distress, confirming his suspicion. He steps toward her. "You've just hidden it away. You know the truth. Say it."

She gazes at him silently. Pleadingly.

With a nod of encouragement, he whispers, "Say it."

 _You can do it. Face your fears, as I have faced mine. Break the chains and slay that which imprisons your soul._

The tears spill over, slipping down her cheeks as, at long last, she confronts the truth. "They were nobody."

"They were filthy junk traders who sold you off for drinking money," he explicates, forcing her to acknowledge the truth in its stark, atrocious entirety.

She gasps softly as his words drive a shaft of pain through her heart. He knows the feeling.

He resists the urge to go to her and wipe away the tears he's inciting. She needs to do this on her own. Firmly, he continues, "They're dead in a pauper's grave in the Jakku desert."

 _They're gone. They can't hurt you anymore. Let. Go. Of. Them._

Knowing this is his best chance to get through to her, he presses his point. He needs her to see the situation as he does and understand how it's to her advantage. "You have no place in this story."

 _You don't bear the weight of lineage and history, as I do._

"You come from nothing."

 _There are no expectations for you to live up to, no standards for you to meet, no one waiting to see if you succeed or fail._

"You're nothing."

 _No one else cares what an orphan from Jakku could achieve._

Gazing at her, he pauses only a moment before laying his heart at her feet. A more vulnerable moment he never lived. "But not to me." Again he presents his open palm to her. "Join me."

Breath hitching, she lowers her gaze to his hand. It's sheathed in a black leather glove, dully reflecting the burning tatters of Snoke's chamber as they drift through the air. Somehow, his gloved hand looks cold and distant. Impersonal, even businesslike. When she reached out to him in the hut on Ahch-To, he deliberately removed the glove and met her with his bare hand. She'd felt the heat of his body, the faint rasp of his callouses. The Kylo persona was stripped away with the habiliment, and she saw the neglected boy, the bitter man—the lonely, troubled spirit who is Ben Solo.

She doesn't want to touch the glove. She wants to touch _him_ , not the cold, dark barrier between them.

She won't kill people to eradicate the problems of the past. That's not the way to begin anything. He doesn't understand that, or won't, because he, too, is clinging to his scars. It's cowardice to try to erase the past rather than reconcile with it. She won't be a part of that.

When she hesitates, a quiver of panic twists his stomach. What's stopping her? Doesn't she want to join him? Surely she's felt the connection between them. They're so alike. They know each other's greatest fears and deepest pain. They're helping each other overcome their obstacles. He needs her to calm his rage; she needs his ambition. They can fill the space left vacant by those who should have loved them best. How does she not _see_ that?

It's not possible that she doesn't care for him; through the Force he felt the fascination, sympathy, and admiration build in her as it built in him. She cares. So why does his hand remain empty?

He could think of only one other thing to do to demonstrate how desperately he wants her to stay with him, to convey how important it is that they unite. Beg.

The notion appalls him on a visceral level. All his life, he has begged for attention, for respect. His parents had more important matters to attend to; his uncle tried to kill him out of fear; and Snoke? Snoke exacerbated Ben's pain, fueled his fury, trained him to be an attack dog on a leash.

He will not have been freed from subjection only a moment ago to find himself abject and inadequate once more. Not to Rey. Bright, shining Rey, who unwittingly stirred the embers of light inside him. Rey, who believes in Ben Solo. He should not have to beg her for support. He should already have it.

Nevertheless, he pushes the revolting word past his lips. "Please."

 _Accept me. Join me. Love me. Please._

He gazes at her, willing her to understand, to agree. Grasping at courage, at dignity, he deliberately regulates his breathing, a display of control to build his confidence. When his fingers begin to tremble, he tenses his arm to force them steady. With no concept of time, he waits.

Rey knows Ben cares for her as she does him. She knows barely a moment has passed since he conquered the demon who had poisoned his mind for so long. But she also knows there's another demon from which he has yet to extricate himself. She cannot, will not, join Ben Solo while Kylo Ren lurks in his heart.

While her own heart cracks and splinters, she resigns herself to reject his offer of partnership—and all that that implies. Until he's ready to let go of his thirst for vengeance, she cannot fully ally herself with him.

Unfortunately, she can't just politely decline and walk away. Even if she thought he would take it well, she wasn't leaving without Luke's lightsaber—which was currently gripped in the hand not presented to her. Would he give it to her if she asked? Doubtful. As soon as he registers her betrayal, for he would perceive it as such, he wouldn't be in the mood to arm her, much less with a weapon that holds so much significance. He's spiteful like that. Or rather, Kylo Ren is. She has to take it from him, and right now she would have the element of surprise while he's focused on her and all but forgotten the saber.

Slowly, she lifts her arm, cruelly feeding his hope but also distracting him while she prepares to use the Force.

His pulse beats in his ears, pounds in his chest.

 _Yes. Join me. No more being alone. We'll forge a new path together. Give me your hand._

Suddenly, Luke's lightsaber is yanked from his grasp. His conscious mind startled, sheer instinct propels him to reach out and grab it using the Force.

What is she doing? Why—?

She's saying no. If she wasn't, all she would have to do is ask, and he would give her the saber. Give her anything. But she doesn't want to join him. She doesn't want him. She wants the saber, she wants Luke. She wants the Jedi. She wants something he can never possess, much less give to her.

In pure self-defense, his body goes numb. He concentrates all his energy, all his strength, and all his will on using the Force to win that lightsaber, because she can't have it. He won't let her take it. He won't give it to her to use against him. Because he wouldn't be able to fight her. Not all the rage in the galaxy could compel him to hurt her now. Though she would be his enemy, there would be no striking her down, no conquering. And that weakness would be his destruction. If she gets that saber, he may as well fall on his knees and beg her to run him through.

Their power is equal, as is their strength of will. The saber trembles in the air directly between them.

There's a rush of wind, of energy, and he and Rey slide away from each other, as if something wants to put distance between them.

Straining, he pulls. Harder. Harder. For the lightsaber. For her. For himself.

And for the Force, because he and Rey wouldn't have bonded as they did if the Force didn't want them to. Need them to.

A burst of light blinds him.

Then darkness.

* * *

If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share **excerpts** on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to my site noapologybookreviews . com. Maybe I'll win the lottery and it'll come to the attention of someone at Del Ray. Help me buy tickets, as it were. 😉 Thanks, guys!


	9. Let Old Things Die (revised & expanded)

**Notes** **:** Sorry about the wait; spring's a busy time of year.

So I pretty much started from scratch, hitting mostly the same beats but describing them differently, recycling some of the phrases from the original. I think I toned down the drama somewhat, and I've changed some of the internal dialogue to better suit the characters and everything I've learned about them. At least, I think it suits them better.

Full disclosure: I've never written a fight scene before. I did my best :/ Also, there's no dialogue during the fight, so I hope it isn't too confusing or boring.

Lastly, I have no idea what those space needle things are in the throne room. They're not mentioned in the visual dictionary, on Wookieepedia, or in either of the novels. I couldn't find anything on reddit that wasn't merely speculative; some said they were torture devices, some said they were exhausts, some said they were for the Attendants. I can't believe no one's asked Rian about them, but if someone did, I can't find the answer. So I ignored the needle-like devices altogether and just referred to the thing as a pit. That's all that's needed for them to serve their purpose. But if anyone does know what they are—via a reliable source—let me know. 🙂

* * *

 ** _Let Old Things Die_** _ **  
**_(revised and expanded)

 _This_ was what he was supposed to feel when he killed Han Solo.

No shock. No pain. No regret.

He feared he would fail, feared Snoke would sense his true allegiance. But the Supreme Leader remained oblivious, and Ren beat him at his own game.

Twitching his gloved fingers, he calls the Skywalker sabre forward and shears his master in two. Trusting Rey to catch the sabre, Ren watches Snoke's torso topple to the floor like a broken toy.

It's done.

Dismissing his past, he lowers his gaze to his future as she gets to her feet.

Clutching the sabre in her fist, her mouth slightly agape, Rey stares back at him with baffled amazement. He meets her stare, willing her to believe that he chose her—chose their partnership, their connection, and whatever may come of it.

He chose freedom.

In his periphery, the guards brandish their weapons and rush forward to avenge their master's death, loyal to Snoke in a way Ren wasn't. He ignites his sabre as bloodthirsty anticipation mounts inside him. He's ready for this fight.

But is Rey? Will she fight beside him?

Admittedly, she doesn't have much of a choice, or much time to decide; even if she refused and he got her to the lift safely, she wouldn't make it off the _Supremacy_.

Regardless, the choice is hers.

A fierce, determined glint enters her eyes; her jaw firms as she clenches her teeth.

He knows that look. She'll stand with him.

She wheels around, and he follows suit. Back-to-back, they survey the oncoming tide of armored hostility.

Ren knows little of the eight elite warriors that comprise the Praetorian Guard. In all his years serving Snoke, he never saw their faces, never saw them in action. But if Snoke hand-picked them to be his last line of defense, their skills must be formidable. Without doubt, they're trained to fight Jedi; their weapons incorporate electro-plasma, an energy capable of blocking a lightsabre.

He has one heartbeat to assess their attack strategy; two beats—then they're on him.

A long rapier cuts through the air; he parries, catching the weapon in the crook of his crossguard shroud and shoving the wielder away. He blocks a blow from a double-bladed arbir, then ducks to avoid a voulge, planting a hand on the floor to keep his balance. As soon as he straightens, a guard comes at him from the left; Ren jerks back and deflects the polearm with a grunt, then immediately bends and thrusts his sabre into the gleaming black floor, foiling a leg sweep while simultaneously evading a return of the arbir, which sought to relieve Ren of his head.

Sparks burst as weapons clash. Behind him, he can hear Rey growling as she holds her own against the crimson sentinels. She wasn't formally trained in melee combat and has likely never engaged in odds such as these—they're outnumbered three times over. Plus her head has to be throbbing with a deep ache from Snoke's mental intrusion. Yet she's still standing.

Ren wouldn't trust anyone else to cover his back.

His arms raised, he holds off a voulge and its wielder. A guard with an arbir tries to slice his exposed middle; Ren grabs the shaft and halts the swing, then he propels the voulge into the offender's shoulder. Before either warrior can react, he rears and delivers a mighty blow to the voulge, repelling them. As he follows through with the motion, Rey braces her back against his, steadies herself with a hand on his hip, and transfers his momentum into her own defensive maneuvers.

As the battle progresses, they gradually get separated. At first Ren tries to keep Rey in sight, but dividing his attention is a good way to get killed, so he trusts her to take care of herself.

He brings his sabre down on a rapier—which, he's discovered, is actually a set of links that can be employed as a sword when tensed or a whip when loose. He hooks it in his crossguard and drives it down to the side, using it to deflect a guard with a voulge. While the guard stumbles back, Ren jabs his elbow into the whip-wielder's visor, creating a dent and dazing the wearer. Grabbing him around the back of the neck, Ren delivers a kick to the guard resurging with the voulge, then throws the whip-wielder into him, sending them both crashing to the floor.

He has a moment to back away and study the positions of the players on the board—and check on Rey, who fells a guard as Ren watches. Reassured, he bears his teeth and meets the next attack.

His sabre fisted in both hands, he blocks a voulge aimed at his head, then brings it down to stop another before it can tear open his belly. But the guards have caught on to his habit of utilizing the cross-vents in his hilt; before he can push them away, they push him _back_ —toward an electrified pit that would rip him to shreds.

Growling, he manages to plant one foot on the slanted lip at the edge; had it been flat, he'd have slipped right in. Gathering his strength, he shoves the voulges and their handlers away, twisting his body for added momentum; then in one smooth movement, he steps forward and plunges his snapping blade through the chest of an oncoming guard. Their armor, which must be infused with some sort of energy, can withstand a glancing blow from a lightsabre—but not a direct one.

As indignant rage swells inside him, he drags his victim toward the pit that might have been his grave; out of pure spite, he wrenches his sabre free from the lifeless figure and lets it tumble into the void. Electricity zaps and crackles as it slashes the body to ribbons.

Lifting his sabre to eye level, Ren looks down the blade and sweeps his gaze over the area, taking stock. His sweat-dampened hair partially obstructs his view, but it doesn't bother him; it's no more limiting than his mask was.

The hideous red curtain that covered the expansive viewport caught fire somehow—the work of hot plasma, he imagines. The golden flames brighten a traditionally dim room; pieces of burning fabric fall to the floor; and a light haze of smoke permeates the chamber.

Ren can hear the whip-wielder behind him. He eyes the warrior with a voulge to his left, then the one directly in front of him—

The duel across the room distracts him. Rey struggles to defend herself against a guard who has separated the double-bladed arbir and now fights with a long dagger in each hand. She's tiring; her opponent takes advantage of her lagging reflexes and scores the tender flesh of her upper arm.

As she yelps in pain, Ren's heart skips a beat, and he blinks as reality crashes over him.

He defeated Snoke because the arrogant fool believed himself infallible. Ren cannot make the same mistake, or he'll meet the same fate—and so will Rey.

They're a strong team; destined, he believes, to be the most powerful union in the galaxy.

But they are not invincible.

The stakes are too high to indulge in vain displays of spite. He's not alone anymore—he has a partner to consider. And that partner needs this battle to end.

As she raises her sabre, ready to fight on, he throws a wild glance toward the advancing guard on his left. No; he can't panic. He's better than that. He trained too hard for too long to lose control now. Adjusting his stance, he lowers his eyes to the floor. Exhales; inhales. Concentrates.

With an audible burst of energy, the guard behind Ren releases the tension in the electro-whip. He can hear it whirling through the air as the guard works up momentum for a brutal strike. _Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—_

Ren quickly analyzes the positions of the other two guards—measures their movements, times their approach—then springs into action.

He manages to decapitate the wielder of the whip and commandeer the voulge of another. Pivoting, thrusting, Ren knocks the third one back—but before he can finish him off, the weaponless guard reenters the fray, bringing up his arms and blocking Ren's sabre with his armor. Undeterred, Ren stabs the voulge into the guard's back and pushes him to the floor.

He glances up—then flings himself away from the third guard's blade without a second to spare; in doing so, he drops his sabre. Unarmed, he stumbles back as his only remaining adversary gracefully spins and drops to a crouch, aiming to hack off a foot. Ren jerks his leg back, then has a just second to steady himself before the guard's on him, bringing his voulge down to cleave Ren's skull. With a snarl, Ren grabs the shaft with both hands, meaning to snatch it away; but the guard holds tight and turns, moving around behind Ren and ensnaring him in a headlock.

Forced to his knees, Ren growls as he strains to keep the pole from crushing his windpipe. But that's not the guard's only strategy; out of the corner of his eye, Ren watches the blade, with its electro-plasma filament, gradually slide toward his throat.

The guard's strong. Stronger than Ren.

The thin thread of plasma—buzzing, hot, unforgiving—edges closer.

It can't end here. He won't let it. He will not have freed himself only to die moments later. He has a destiny to fulfill.

He has Rey.

 _"Ben!"_

It's not a reflexive cry of alarm; she's calling for his attention. Trusting her to have a good reason for distracting him when he's fighting for his life, he turns his head and looks at her.

He doesn't look away as the Skywalker sabre arcs through the air toward him. He doesn't look away as he dares take one hand off the voulge at his throat to catch it—and he doesn't look away as he ignites it with more instinct than thought.

The pressure across his neck eases; behind him, the last guard drops to the floor with a heavy thud. Ren moves the voulge away from his throat, gets to his feet, and tosses the weapon to the floor; it lands with a clatter that echoes through the chamber.

But his eyes never leave her.

They stand in the Supreme Leader's throne room, gazing at each other with the bodies of the most highly trained warriors in the galaxy littering the floor. Sparks drift through the air.

Rey glances away first, her eyes leaving him for the oculus. "The fleet," she says as if just remembering that the Resistance is in dire straits. She hurries to the magnified scope, pointing at the ongoing carnage. "Order them to stop firing; there's still time to save the fleet!"

But Ren has no intention of saving the Rebels. After summoning his sabre and clipping it to his belt, he steps closer to the bisected corpse of his former master. Phantom emotions pass over him like shadows—fear and shame, as if Snoke would somehow reassemble himself and punish Ren for his betrayal. But the body doesn't so much as twitch.

Snoke is dead. Ren is his own master now.

He's in a position he never thought he would actually achieve; he answers to no one, and he can do what he will. With Snoke gone and Skywalker welcoming death, both his own and that of the Jedi—a revelation which startled Ren when Snoke mentioned it—Ren could very well be the most powerful being in the galaxy.

A small, quiet voice caresses him like a gentle touch to his cheek. "Ben?"

Rey.

With Rey, he can be even stronger. With Rey, he can change everything.

They could do _anything_. Does she realize that? A whirling parade of possibilities dances around them—and she wants to save a handful of Rebels she barely knows? Why?

Why rebel when she could rule?

Breathing hard as a result of the fight—and the excitement building inside him—Ren declares, "It's time to let old things die." He's said as much to her before—warned her that it was a necessary step in realizing her true potential. He tried to prepare her, coach her—but ultimately, she has to make that decision on her own. He can't drag her away from the past; she has to let it go and walk away—toward him. Toward something new, something better. And she will; he knows she will.

Because she came to him. She fought beside him. She believes in him.

"Snoke," he says, turning his head to meet her bewildered gaze. "Skywalker."

But it's bigger than them; Snoke and Skywalker were just agents who perpetuated a greater struggle, one that has lasted far too long. One that he and Rey need to end.

He slowly steps toward her. "The Sith. The Jedi. The Rebels. Let it all die. Rey." Stopping, he works his mouth and swallows hard, gathering his courage. Then he holds out his hand to her, deliberately turning the tables. "I want you to join me."

.

The truth creeps up on Rey like a thief, snatching the joy from her heart, leaving her empty. Empty but for a devastating disappointment—and the agony of loss.

But—her vision. She _saw_ Ben turn.

Luke's voice rumbles in her ear: _This is not going to go the way you think._

"We can rule together and bring a new order to the galaxy," Ben says earnestly, eagerly.

All of her budding hopes, her dewy dreams, fade like the stars at dawn. Despite the lingering ache from Snoke's invasion, she shakes her head. "Don't do this, Ben." Rising despair thickens her voice; she addresses him by his given name in an effort to remind him that he's not Kylo Ren. "Please don't go this way."

At her words, his brow contorts with ire. He instantly negates her plea, his voice rising with aggression. "No, no, you're still— _holding on!_ Let go!"

Tears blur her vision. He's never yelled at her before. Not when she defied him, not when she insulted him, not when she raged at him. Not even when she shot at him. He was always calm, quiet, patient—absurdly so, confoundingly so. He never directed anger toward her.

But she sees it now—anger, and frustration, and impatience. And pain. A pain she feels in her own chest.

.

She's not listening to him. After everything— _everything_ —she still doesn't understand.

And he knows what's going on in her head. She thought that when he killed Snoke, he joined the side of the light. Like it's that simple.

She's spent her whole life as a worthless little orphan scavenger from a sandy cesspool of a planet, waiting for identity, for purpose. Then one day, she found a droid and got sucked into an adventure. She met the legendary Han Solo and learned about Skywalker, about the Jedi—lore which she had probably considered fiction to that point. She was starstruck, awed, inspired.

Then she began to feel the Force awakening inside her; she discovered she has a power that, as history tells it, has been exclusive to Jedi and Sith. She rejected the call of the darkness—so she must be a Jedi. That must be who she is, what she's meant to be, do. It allowed her to further deny who her parents were and why they left her on Jakku. If she possesses this amazing power, she can't be nobody. She can't be worthless. Maybe her parents were great, wise figures, and in order to keep her safe, they abandoned her, ignored her. There must be a reason—a _good_ reason.

But there's not.

She's fixated on the light; it blinds her, damages her vision, makes Ren appear darker than he really is. Skywalker told her the Jedi Order needs to end—and still she won't allow her eyes to adjust. She's in blind denial—and she thinks if she can save him, everything will be fixed.

Like it's that simple.

When she told him about the cave, he was aware that she habitually refused to acknowledge painful truths. He knew she'd never before confessed her lack of identity, not to anyone, maybe not even to herself. And he was honored; honored and touched that when she'd finally admitted it, she admitted it to _him_. She knew he would sympathize, empathize; she felt safe telling him her deepest, darkest secret. Felt safe showing him her greatest weakness.

He offered her comfort—told her she wasn't alone. Not in her conflict, not in her fear—and not in the galaxy. He was there with her. He wanted to be, because he felt safe with her, too.

She looked him in the eye, returned the sentiment, and reached out for him. At that point, he thought she understood what she meant to him. Thought that he meant the same to her. Thought she was ready to let go of her parents, ready to find her identity with him. Ready to set a precedent—a new way of life, a new way of thinking. Not light and dark, good and bad, Jedi and Sith, but an ideal that's more realistic, more attainable, more forgiving.

But in the lift, he realized he was wrong. She was still blinded by the light, still denying the truth. Still wanting to turn him, to fix everything.

To disabuse her of that notion, he told her the Force had showed him her parents. He knew they were selfish, worthless trash who didn't care about her at all. He knew she was abandoned for no good reason. He knew she had no special identity, just as she feared. He _knew_.

And he hoped, when the time came and he asked her to join him, she would understand that he doesn't care about her parents, or her past. He wants her despite them; because what he cares about is _her_.

But she still doesn't understand.

The only explanation he can conjure is that she doesn't actually know who her parents are; therefore, she can't comprehend the significance of his gesture. After all, she asked the mirror in the cave to show them to her. He thought she was simply hoping to be wrong, but… Just how deeply did she bury the memory?

"Do you want to know the truth about your parents?" he asks. "Or have you always known?"

Her brow creases with distress, and he prays there never comes a day when he can't read her expression. He moves closer, his tone gentle but firm. "You've just hidden it away. You know the truth. Say it."

With tears glistening in her eyes, she gazes at him beseechingly.

He won't back down. It's too important. He will bully her until she verbalizes the crime. She's not afraid of him; she can fight back if she wants to—and win; he wears the proof on his face. But he won't back down. If he can slay the master who imprisoned him with his own fears, she can do the same. They're equals.

Giving her a nod of encouragement, he whispers, "Say it."

The tears spill over, slipping down her cheeks as she finally acknowledges the source of her insecurities. Acknowledges the reason why she wants so desperately to be a Jedi. "They were nobody."

"They were filthy junk traders who sold you off for drinking money," he specifies, his light tone conveying incredulity toward the influence she allowed the trash to have on her decisions, her life.

She gasps softly, clearly pained by the words. He resists the urge to go to her, touch her, hold her.

"They're dead in a pauper's grave in the Jakku desert," he states bluntly, driving his point home. "You have no place in this story. You come from nothing. You're nothing."

She looks away, sniffling, as he shoves her worst fears in her face.

She's not a princess, a general, a legend, a myth, or a master. Her lineage is scum; her legacy is scum. Her blood doesn't recommend her; nor does history. She's not a chosen one; there's no prophecy foretelling her greatness. The galaxy has never heard of her. No one's waiting for her, no one's watching her. No one cares who she is or what she could do. She has no expectations to meet, no standards to measure up to. She's just a scavenger.

He watches her with vulnerable eyes. "But not to me."

To him, she's everything.

The resolution to his conflict. The light to his dark. The hope to his dejection.

With him, she doesn't have to be anything but herself. Her strong, sympathetic, radiant self.

Her eyes meet his, and in this moment, it's not about the war, the galaxy, or the eternal struggle. This moment is about them.

Does she finally understand?

There's only one way to know.

Again, he presents his open palm to her. "Join me."

.

Rey lowers her gaze to the proffered hand, which is sheathed in a black leather glove. And she grieves, longing for the warm, calloused flesh she touched in her hut on Ahch-To.

 _You have no place in this story. You come from nothing. You're nothing._

She knew that. Deep down, she knew that, but never allowed herself to believe it. Because as long as she could pretend her parents were good people, maybe even important people, she could pretend she, in turn, was good and important; she was merely waiting for an explanation.

But the explanation never came; BB-8 did. Then Finn, then stormtroopers—and before she knew it, she was caught up in one of the stories she used to overhear at the outpost. The people, the places—it all seemed so surreal, so extraordinary. And then she discovered Luke's lightsabre, and the Force.

She refused to believe that it would have happened to just anyone. There was a reason she became involved; she just didn't know what it was, and her latent insecurity gnawed at her. She crossed the galaxy in search of validation from Luke, but he literally shut his door in her face. With no other solution at hand, and Leia counting on her, she waited him out. But in the end, he didn't help her.

Ben did.

He mocked her, taunted her, nagged her, _shoved_ her out of her comfort zone and away from her preconceptions. She went to the sea cave to prove him—and herself—wrong. But the sea cave gave her nothing.

And in her loneliest hour, Ben was there. He listened; he understood. He told her she wasn't alone. And for the first time in her life, she felt like she was where she was supposed to be. With him.

That was her purpose, she decided. _He_ was her purpose. She became involved in this chaos because she is meant to save Ben Solo, to draw him away from the dark and back to the light. With his help, the Resistance could defeat the First Order and restore peace.

She knows what he's saying—voicing her worst fear, forcing her to face the truth and conquer it, because he cares; he wants her to be strong. He doesn't really believe she's insignificant, or she wouldn't have lived long after meeting him. He wouldn't have immediately applied a balm to the sting.

 _But not to me._

Her fear of insignificance is unfounded, because regardless of her origins, there are people who care about her, believe in her. Finn, Han, Chewie, Leia. Ben.

But most of all, she now believes in herself, and her purpose.

Her face wet with tears, she stares down at the hand encased in black leather. It's impersonal. Distant. It's not Ben.

She knows what he's saying. But it's what he's doing—or rather, not doing—that gives her pause.

.

Ren's hand remains empty. She's processing; he can almost see the wheels turning in her head. She has to understand. He can't say it any more plainly.

Anxiety upsets his stomach, but he ignores it. Sweat drips from his tousled hair as he edges closer to her. But he commands himself to stop. She needs to come to him. That's for her to do.

She lifts her eyes to his—and in them, he can see doubt. _Doubt_.

He shouldn't have to beg, not if they're equals. He shouldn't have to lower himself to her that way. But the thought of her rejection, the possibility that he's not what she wants, terrifies him. He doesn't know how else to express how much he reveres her. How much he needs her.

His stomach twisting, he whispers, "Please."

.

As her heart cracks and splinters, Rey resigns herself to leaving. She doesn't regret that she came; but she does regret that she can't take him with her when she goes.

She was a fool to think turning Ben would be easy; arrogant to assume that in just a few minutes, she could undo years of abuse, could douse his burning need for vengeance. Ben can't embrace the light until he exorcises Kylo Ren, and that will take time—which the Resistance does not have.

For now, she has to help the Resistance.

For now, she has to turn her back on him.

Perhaps one day, her vision will become reality; but not today.

If she were simply to walk away, would he let her go? Or would she become the enemy?

She'd feel better if she were armed when she found out.

.

His pulse beats in his ears, pounds in his chest.

Her arm rises from her side—but Ren remains tense, watching, waiting. He swallows hard, refusing to feel relief until her hand lies in his.

While the doubt has left her eyes, tears continue to well. Her artless features describe a tale of woe.

And he'd like to think that, if she were choosing him, she would be happy.

Suddenly, she throws out her arm—and yanks Luke's lightsaber from his grasp. He quickly grabs it with the Force, halting it midway between them.

If there's pain, he can't feel it. Not now; not yet. His focus narrows to the hilt quivering in the air, and he concentrates all his energy, all his strength, and all his will on winning it.

Because it's not just a lightsabre; not just a weapon. It's a symbol—of his family, of the Jedi…and of Rey.

That lightsabre is everything that has ever rejected him. Everything he was promised but failed to earn.

Everything he's ever wanted.

Everything he can't have.

That lightsabre belongs to him. And he _will_ take it.

There's a rush of wind, of energy; he and Rey slide away from each other as the Force puts distance between them. Ren ignores it, as well as the distressed crystal inside the metal hilt.

Straining, he pulls. Harder. Harder.

The hilt begins to glow.

Shaking with effort, his heart hammering, he bears his teeth in a snarl and glares at his equally determined opponent. One glance at him has her redoubling her own efforts; a primitive cry tears free from her throat.

Thin beams of light erupt from a fissure in the hilt. They grow brighter—wider—stronger—

Then the hilt breaks, releasing an explosion of energy that sends the contenders soaring in opposite directions as a burst of light fills the chamber.

Ren's unconscious before he hits the floor.

* * *

If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share **excerpts** on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to my site: noapologybookreviews . com. Maybe I'll win the lottery and it'll come to the attention of someone at Del Ray. Help me buy tickets, as it were. 😉 Thanks, guys!


	10. The Supreme Leader

**_The Supreme Leader_**

She wakes with a start, flat on her back. Rey's wide eyes wheel in her head as adrenaline floods her system, preparing her to fight or flee. But she detects no movement; no weapon is arcing toward her. She works to slow her panicked breaths as she slowly levers herself up onto her elbows and sweeps her eyes over Snoke's throne room, taking in the burning tatters of the blood-colored curtain, the sparks drifting through the air, and the lifeless bodies of Snoke and his guard scattered throughout the chamber. She must have been unconscious only for a minute or two.

She spots Ben lying on the floor several feet away; he also appears to have been knocked out cold by the energy that exploded from Luke's sabre.

She gazes at him for a moment, trying to determine if his chest is moving. He's so still…

He's fine. If she's fine, he's fine, and could wake any moment. Now would be an excellent opportunity to escape, while there's no one to stop her.

On that thought, she climbs to her hands and knees, wincing as various aches and twinges foreshadow the sorry state she'll be in tomorrow. As she braces herself to stand, her eyes catch on a glint of metal—Luke's sabre. She squints. Part of it, anyway. She spies the other half on the floor near Ben. With a grimace, she pushes to her feet and stumbles forward, bending to pick up the first half; a few lurching steps, and she retrieves the other.

Looking up, she means to seek an escape route—and finally notices the catastrophe outside the viewport. Eyes round, she steps closer and gapes at the—is that part of the _ship_ listing at an angle? Debris large and small tumble through space. Billowing fires rage where the ship appears to have been cut through with a blade. What _happened?_

And where are the Rebels?

She's tempted to use the magnifying scope to look for the transports, but she's wasted enough time. When she's rejoined Chewie and R2-D2, they'll do what they can to help the Resistance…if they still exist.

Did the Order manage to hit them all? Her heart contracts painfully at the bleak thought.

 _Finn. Leia._

Stop it. Of course they're alive. She… she would feel it if something happened to them. Yes. She would.

The Resistance is alive, and so is her purpose.

 _Go._

She turns her head, and somehow, her eyes fall directly on what she needs—an airlock chamber tucked discreetly off to one side of the throne room, so unassuming that she might not have noticed it had she not been looking for it. Inside, she hopes, will be an escape shuttle.

Clutching the shards of the sabre, she begins to run toward the sealed door—but hesitates as she passes by Ben.

The opportunity isn't lost on her. The mighty Kylo Ren, at her mercy for the second time in their short acquaintance. In the dark, snowy forest on Starkiller Base, she disarmed him, maimed him, and with rage roiling in her blood, stared into his dark eyes as he lay before her. She could have killed him then. But she didn't.

Neither will she now. This time, however, it's not because she fears the darkness in herself. This time, it's because she prays for the light in him.

She briefly entertains the notion of grabbing him by the boot and hauling him away with her. He's big, but she's dragged heavy loads of salvage through sand. She could do it, though it wouldn't be a graceful feat.

But she won't. If he won't come willingly, then he's not meant to come. Not yet.

She watches his chest again, and when she's assured that it rises and falls, she turns away—and leaves him behind.

.

Ren wakes with a gasp. Propping himself up with his arms, he blinks at the black tile floor as he tries to grasp one of the thoughts writhing in his anxious mind.

Rey. Lightsabre. Snoke. Guards. Lightsabre. Rey—where's Rey?

He lifts his head, but he knows without looking that she's gone. He would feel her presence if she were near.

Wouldn't he?

"What happened?"

Ren's eyes dart toward the familiar waspish tone. Hux stands over him, his pasty face pinched with displeasure, his gloved hands fisted at his sides. Ren glances at the bodies of Snoke and the Elite Praetorian Guard, then back at Hux. He'd have thought the general would be more upset upon seeing that his leader lies in pieces; maybe, like Ren, he wasn't as devoted a disciple as he seemed.

Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. Peering through the naked viewport, Ren sees…devastation.

In awe, he pushes to his feet and tosses out a specious explanation that will circumvent any accusations of treason. "The girl murdered Snoke." It doesn't matter if Hux believes it; he has no evidence to prove otherwise. Stepping closer to the glass, surveying the extensive damage to their floating fortress, Ren returns the question. "What happened?"

Disregarding the inquiry, the officer states disparagingly, "She took Snoke's escape craft."

Before he can stop himself, Ren searches the debris outside for said craft…but there are dozens of escape pods fleeing the doomed flagship, heading for the Destroyers that remain intact. If she's still close, he can't pick her out of the chaos.

In his heart is an ache. He wills it away, but he knows it'll linger. It's been there most of his life. It's the same ache he felt when his parents sent him away; it's the same ache he felt after he destroyed Luke's temple. It's the ache he felt when he watched his father tumble from the catwalk on Starkiller Base.

He doesn't even bother looking around for the Skywalker sabre. She'd have taken it with her. That appears to be all she did—just took the sabre and ran.

What she _didn't_ do intrigues him.

She could have eliminated Ren, eliminated the threat of him. But she didn't.

She should have.

His eyes alight on a dimly lit sphere in the distance—the planet the transports were trying to reach. "We know where's she going," he says, voice hard with resolve. "Get all our forces down to that Resistance base." Turning away from the viewport, he heads toward the lift. "Let's finish this."

"'Finish this'?" Hux echoes with a sneer. "Who do you think you're talking to?"

Ren's steps slow to a stop. Pivoting, he glares at his _subordinate_.

"You presume to command my army? Our Supreme Leader is dead!" Hux shrieks. "We have no ruler!"

Ren's emotions settle into a cold fury. To allay any confusion as to who is in charge, he lifts his arm and commands the Force to constrict the general's airways. Immediately the man begins to gag and choke; the condescending superiority in his pale eyes morphs into stark supplication.

"The Supreme Leader—is _dead_ ," Ren snaps, teeth bared.

Clutching at his neck, Hux falls to his knees. His lips quickly turning purple, then blue, he rasps, "Long live the Supreme Leader."

.

Standing on the bridge of his command shuttle with officers at their stations busily analyzing schematics and relaying orders to officers in other vehicles, Ren studies the landscape as his forces plod steadily toward the mine where the Resistance has holed up.

No one has been able to tell him anything about this planet beyond superficial scans of the terrain. Located in the far Outer Rim, it has evaded official charting; pair that fact with an idiot general who took victory for granted, and the remote, isolated, forgotten planet went unnoticed by the Order until it was too late to stop the Resistance from taking refuge on it. As soon as they're done here, Ren would make sure those oversights are remedied—both the charts, and the idiot general.

The planet appears to be a desolate wasteland of salt flats broken by ridges, low mountains, and deep waterways. At first, he thought the highly reflective white steppes were covered in snow, but his analysts informed him that the climate is warm; the ground is actually coated with a thin layer of halite. Nevertheless, Ren called for the snowtroopers, who are prepared for the dazzling brightness and slippery surface.

As far as they can tell, the colossal blast door is the only entrance to the mine—and consequently the only exit, barring any unintentional outlets formed by nature. But Ren can feel waves of desperation emanating from behind the thick metal door and rock walls; the enemy is cornered. The chase is over.

The Resistance cruiser did no small amount of damage to the _Supremacy_ , but the Order remains more than capable of mounting a successful attack. Aside from a squadron of TIE fighters, Ren commanded several kinds of walkers be airdropped to the surface—as well as the siege cannon designed for a situation precisely like this one.

His strategy is simple. The cannon can easily tear open the bulwark, but the weapon's not invulnerable; while it charges, the fighters and combat walkers will lay cover and target the trenches, taking out the artillery emplacements. He doesn't know what sort of arms the Resistance will have found stored in the base, but any weapons will likely be as old and unmaintained as the rusted laser towers jutting above the ground. He has no doubt the Order's modern and innovative weaponry can handle any pathetic scraps the Resistance might throw at them.

The front line will continue to advance, and when the enemy's defenses are shredded, the infantry will invade the fort and kill any Rebel who remains. If the Resistance manages to contact allies, the Order will destroy the reinforcements in turn. Ren isn't worried about anyone coming to the rescue, though; the Resistance has been short-staffed from day one, because the galaxy is tired of struggling. They have only just begun to recover from the Galactic Civil War and don't want to risk their efforts on such horrendous odds.

By the end of the day, the Resistance will no longer exist, and the First Order will reign; Supreme Leader Kylo Ren will rule the galaxy. He will be more legendary than any glorified scoundrel, revered princess-general, or idolized Jedi. He will have surpassed even Darth Vader in power—for Ren has no master.

As the First Order forces draw closer to the mine, objects begin to race across the flat toward them. Clouds of scarlet follow in the wake of the objects, appearing like trails of exhaust. As they near, Ren frowns. They look like podracers, but they're outfitted with small laser cannons. The clouds in their wake are crystalline particles kicked up by a ventral stabilizer strut as it scores the ground. What kind of rickety relics did the Rebels find in there?

From the trenches, the Resistance begins to fire on the line of combat walkers, providing the airspeeders with cover.

"Thirteen incoming light craft," Hux announces needlessly from beside Ren in the cockpit. "Shall we hold until we clear them?"

"No," Ren answers. "The Resistance is in that mine. Push through."

When TIE fighters streak past the shuttle to return fire, the speeders break formation and employ evasive maneuvers—or try to. The movements of some of those speeders are downright awkward; he suspects some of the pilots haven't had much experience.

While a number of fighters pursue the speeders, another group targets the trenches, peppering the enemy's defenses with bright green laserfire before banking to avoid the door and circling around to continue the barrage. Plumes of dust and smoke slant sideways, carried away by the wind.

As the officers at their databanks murmur stats and reports, Ren turns to his own seat, intending to sit while he watches his forces effortlessly overwhelm the enemy.

Then the _Millennium Falcon_ flies into view, and his heart skips a beat as the freighter takes out three fighters with one shot.

For a fraction of second, he stares, frozen. In the back of his mind, he hoped Rey was still out in space in Snoke's escape craft. But he's certain she's there in that laser turret, coming to the rescue like the hero she so desperately wants to be. The hero she felt she couldn't become if joined with him.

Feeling rejected all over again; feeling errant and worthless; he surges to his full height and stalks toward the pilot, thrusting his arm out to indicate the battered starship. His voice rises until it's a roar of unrestrained fury. "Blow that piece of junk _out of the sky!_ " Whether he refers to the ship or its passenger, he doesn't care to contemplate.

Behind him, Hux snaps to the officers, "All fighters!"

The black TIE fighters swarm the _Falcon_ , which leads the entire squadron over the ridge and out of sight.

The very moment Ren's temper cools enough for him to realize he's left the ground forces with no air support, the tug haulers come to a halt—the siege cannon is now within range and ready to begin its firing sequence. Once it does, it'll be vulnerable, and the hulking walkers aren't able to maneuver well enough to track the nimble speeders as they hustle toward it. The Rebels will no doubt try to disable the cannon—and he just cleared the way for them.

"All fire power on those speeders," he commands urgently. Before he's even finished speaking, Hux parrots, "Concentrate all fire on the speeders!" Ren slides him an exasperated gander.

To his relief, the gunners pick off speeder after speeder. When there are only four left, three of them peel off and head back to the base for cover—but one maintains its course. A voluntary sacrifice or sheer stubbornness? Ren doesn't know, doesn't care; he reiterates the order to take it out. It's too close to the cannon for comfort.

It gets closer. And closer still.

His pilot, Lieutenant Tavson, calls Ren's attention to something further afield. One of the three speeders that retreated has again turned around and hastens toward the one still in play. He narrows his eyes, baffled by their strategy.

The returning skimmer goes wide and aims not for the Order, but for its fellow craft, ramming it and knocking it out of the path of the enormous barrel. Both vehicles crash to the ground, fragmenting on impact and tumbling across the plain, stripping the salt from crimson crystal ground until they finally skid to a stop. Dark smoke billows up from the wrecked turbine motors.

Ren's brow relaxes. Well. That takes care of that. If the pilots survived, they won't live for long. He turns his attention to the cannon's tracer beam as it glows brighter and brighter.

"Weapon fully charged, sir," calls one of the officers.

Ren gazes at the door to the mine, vindication straightening his spine. "Fire."

A powerful pulse of energy explodes from the cannon and streaks along the beam. It booms like thunder on impact; a shower of flaming metal arcs through the air as black smoke and fire frame the new hole in the door.

"General Hux, advance," Ren says formally, calm now. He's won. For the first time in a life full of conflict and strife, he's come out on top. "No quarter. No prisoners."

Leaving the cannon behind, the line of combat walkers lumbers forward while the command shuttle quietly keeps pace above them. Idly, Ren surveys the battlefield—the smoldering piles of scrap that used to be speeders and TIE fighters; the crisscrossing paths produced by the skimmers' halofoils; the wider, blackened path where the cannon's energy scorched the ground.

His eyes return to the door and the flaming fissure they created.

Something moves in the opening, something that has Ren's instincts rearing and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. "Stop!" he calls. What is that? The Resistance wouldn't seriously send an envoy, would they? They're too proud to negotiate, certainly too proud to surrender. Besides, there's nothing to negotiate; their surrender would change nothing. The Resistance _will_ be eliminated.

As the walkers rock in their haste to obey his command, Ren stares fixedly at the humanoid figure that steps out of the mine and casually strolls toward them.

He knows that pretentious swagger.

But it can't be. He's light years away, waiting for death.

It would be just like him, though, to show up at the eleventh hour and make an entrance. To play the savior.

The robed figure moves closer, and Ren goes very, very still.

Skywalker stops and looks up expectantly at the command shuttle. Looks at Ren.

Refusing to be intimidated—his stomach is _not_ quivering, his confident is _not_ shaken—Ren takes a deliberate step closer to the viewport; he wants an unobstructed view of the moment he's craved since the night he woke up to find the Jedi Master—his beloved uncle Luke—poised to kill him in his sleep.

Their positions are reversed now. Ren hovers above his would-be murderer, armed not with a mere lightsabre, but with an army. And he's going to use it.

"I want every gun we have," he orders softly, "to fire on that man."

Incredulity suffuses the air in the cockpit.

"Do it."

In low, careful murmurs, the instructions are relayed. The AT-M6 closest to the shuttle adjusts its stance to better withstand the recoil—and after another moment of hesitation, it fires.

The laser bolt strikes the target. A geyser of crystalline earth spews in all directions.

And before the dust clears, another walker fires, then another—then all of them are spitting laser bolts at the man Ren once trusted to help him make the right decisions. The man who was supposed to embody everything that was light and hope and goodness. The man who was supposed to guide Ren when he didn't know which way to turn, was supposed to protect him from his nightmares. The man who shared his blood, who should have loved him, who should have _understood_ —

The man who should have been better, so that Ren could learn to be better, too.

"More," he commands. The quivering has spread from his stomach to his limbs. His heart careens in a wild tattoo. That deep, familiar ache gnaws at his ribs, and his gloved hands ball into fists. _"More!"_

A pillar of smoke and vermilion dust rises above the crater his gunners have carved into the ground.

In the distance, beyond the ringing in his ear, Ren hears Hux speak. "That's enough." But Ren can't tear his eyes away from the scene.

So Hux steps forward and takes charge. "That's enough!" he bellows.

The barrage ceases, and, dazed, Ren gracelessly drops into his seat. Enjoying the shift in power, Hux turns to him and sarcastically inquires, "Do you think you got him?"

Ignoring him, Ren sucks in a shuddering breath. Skywalker's dead. After all these years, he's finally gone, destroyed…and Ren sits in shock, hardly able to believe it's over. He feels…free, somehow, unsettlingly so, as if he's been dragging around a heavy weight and the sudden loss of it has set him off balance.

"Now," Hux declares to the bridge at large. "We're ready to get moving. We can finish this."

Captain Peavey, who's been silently standing by, takes an abrupt step forward and squints through the transparisteel.

"Sir?" Lieutenant Tavson issues tentatively.

Hearing the odd note in the pilot's tone, Ren looks up sharply. Hux gapes at something outside, and Ren's stomach pitches, already knowing what's bemused them. Surging to his feet, he marches to the viewport—and watches Jedi Master Luke Skywalker climb out of the crater without so much as a scratch.

Inwardly, Ren staggers. The muscles in his thighs go weak, and it's all he can do to remain upright.

 _How?_

There's no way the old man could have used the Force to deflect all those shots. He couldn't have _gained_ power on that godforsaken island.

Could he?

He doesn't know what Skywalker's capable of, and that scares him more than watching the man climb out of his grave.

Staring up at Ren, the Jedi lifts one hand to the opposite shoulder and casually—pointedly—brushes his fingers against it as if swiping off a speck of dirt.

 _That all you got, kid?_

As insult knocks away the shock, Ren scoffs. He's not a kid anymore. Neither is he an apprentice.

He'll prove it.

"Bring me down to him," he murmurs. "Keep the door covered, and don't advance until I say."

Hux turns to give him a look rife with mistrust and impatience. "Supreme Leader, don't get distracted. Our goal—"

Ren waves a hand and uses the Force to throw Hux against the bulkhead. With a pathetic little squeal, the general tumbles over the bank of monitors and lands in a heap on the floor.

Lieutenant Tavson immediately chirps, "Right away, sir," and begins the landing sequence. Having shifted his focus to the imminent confrontation, Ren leaves the bridge.

Destroying the Jedi has been his mission for years. He should have known killing Skywalker personally is the only suitable conclusion. This time, the victory won't feel so hollow. This time, he'll have earned it.

The shuttle quakes delicately as it touches down. With a hiss of hydraulics, the ramp lowers to the crystal floor, exposed and scored by battle. He doesn't allow himself to hesitate, propelling his feet forward and striding down the ramp. Without pausing, he begins to close the distance between him and his former master.

Several meters away, he stops and studies his adversary. A strong temperate wind ruffles Ren's inky hair, flaps his long black cape. The current swirls around Skywalker, too, gently batting at his dark robes. His very clean dark robes. Everything about him is clean and well-kept; he doesn't look as if he's aged a day since Ren last saw him.

The observation infuriates him. By all accounts, the Jedi has been wallowing in self-pity on a lonely spit of land in the Unknown Regions for years. He should be dirty and decrepit and despondent, half-crazed.

He should look like a beggar—because beg is what he'll do.

"Did you come back to say you forgive me?" Ren jeers, his voice dripping with contempt. "To save my soul?"

His frowning features completely devoid of pity, Skywalker shakes his head. "No," he negates firmly.

Then he came to finish what he started that night.

Ren shrugs off his cape so it won't hinder him, then unclips his sabre from his belt. Bringing the red blade to sparking, spitting life, he lithely assumes a combative stance, low and aggressive, ready to spring. Skywalker takes his own weapon in hand and calmly ignites it; a bright blue shaft emerges from the hilt.

Aim directed at the man across from him, Ren slowly lifts his sabre to eye level; his world narrows to one man, one purpose. How many times did he envision this moment? He adjusts his stance, grinding salt under his heel. How long has he hungered for an opportunity to avenge himself?

Skywalker smirks, as if amused by Ren's angst.

His pride stung, Ren shoots forward and brings his sabre down in one strong stroke—but Skywalker evades. Ren immediately compensates with a smooth backhanded swing—which also misses its mark.

Ending his run in a ready crouch, he stares at the Jedi in disbelief. How can an old man move so quickly? It defies logic.

But then, so does the Force.

Adjusting his stance, his features set in determined calculation, Ren studies his opponent. A blow that can't be dodged…

Charging, he slices his blade through the air in a low sweep, angled downward to thwart any attempt to duck. But Skywalker crooks his knees and bends back further than Ren would have thought possible for any man—and again he misses. Teeth clenched in frustration, he smoothly pivots and delivers another swipe—but the Jedi spins away in a move that's almost unnatural. Most definitely a move that shouldn't be possible for old bones. Back to his original position, Ren glares at him, irritated because he feels like a baffled apprentice rather than a competent master.

Tense and wary, Skywalker holds his sabre at the ready. "I failed you, Ben," he acknowledges with gravity, brows lifted earnestly. "I'm sorry."

Hands fisted, feet spread, Ren snaps, "I'm sure you are!" As if a few empty words could equal Ren's life, or the loss thereof. As if a few empty words could erase a nightmare of a memory, could soothe a festering wound of deepest betrayal. Tossing out meaningless sentiments will not undermine his drive for revenge.

"The Resistance is dead," he snarls, his voice hoarse in his raw throat. "The war is over. And when I kill you, I will have killed the last _Jedi_." He spits out the name as if it's the foulest thing to have ever touched his tongue.

"Amazing," Luke drawls. "Every word of what you just said was wrong. The Rebellion is reborn today. The war is just beginning." He pauses, holding Ren's gaze steady. "And I will not be the last Jedi."

Unbidden, a series of images pass before Ren's eyes. Rey, uncertain but hopeful, holding her hand out to him. Rey, gazing up at him as if he could be the solution to all of her problems. Rey, frightened for his life, giving him her weapon.

Rey, her features heavy with disappointment as she realizes he's not what she wanted him to be. Rey, fighting him.

Abandoning him.

Choosing to be his enemy.

Rey. Who feels her purpose is to become a Jedi, restore the Order, and bring peace to the galaxy. To become everything that Ren has spent years trying to erase from existence.

As the wind tosses his hair, Ren gazes at the man opposite him—and fatigue begins to tug at him. Not physical fatigue; his body is trained to fight until the battle's won. No, it's fatigue of the spirit.

For years, he's had one goal: kill Skywalker and destroy all traces of the Jedi Order, so that the corrupt, hypocritical institution could no longer wreak havoc on the galaxy. Now as he stands poised to accomplish that coveted feat, as he stands before the man whose death has been his foremost motivation…he realizes his greatest challenge is yet to come.

And he's not ready for it.

Denying the thought, he quietly asserts, "I'll destroy her. And you. And all of it."

He wills himself to believe it. But he doesn't.

He's imagined this confrontation. Imagined dueling Skywalker, disarming him. Imagined standing over him as his former master begs for mercy. Imagined slashing down with his blade, just as Skywalker meant to that night.

He can't imagine doing that to Rey. His mind shies at the idea of harming her. Has since the first moment he saw her.

Disgusted, infuriated, by his weakness, he glares at Skywalker, who deactivates his sabre and relaxes his stance.

"No," the old man says, shaking his head wearily. "Strike me down in anger, and I'll always be with you."

He thinks Ren will regret killing him? Arrogant old fool. Ren can't regret something he wants so badly. It won't be like—

"Just like your father."

Ren jerks as the words pierce his heart.

He—he _dares_ mention— He dares _mock_ —

The memory of Han Solo's craggy countenance—illuminated in a sanguine glow, contorted with pain, gaping with shock—flashes through his mind.

Skywalker grins with satisfaction. And blind fury consumes Ren.

Rushing forward, he raises his sabre high. A terrible cry claws its way up his throat.

He won't regret this. He won't regret it at all.

Skywalker doesn't move; doesn't duck, doesn't dodge. And the vivid red beam cuts clean through his middle.

Ren skids to a stop, breaths heaving, and lowers his weapon.

It's done. It's finally done.

He killed Luke Skywalker.

But the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen. Stomach twisting with dread, he gradually turns.

Skywalker stands in one piece. One whole, tidy piece.

 _How?_

Then it clicks in his mind.

By an act that requires more power than most Jedi ever possess; an act so rarely performed there's almost no record of it; an act that would demand such an extreme amount of energy that the Jedi would be left in a state of severe exhaustion—if not death.

Disbelieving, Ren lifts his sabre and steps toward the Jedi, who doesn't move, doesn't so much as twitch. Where the tip of his blade meets Skywalker's chest, a light shines bright, reminiscent of a hologram. But it's not a mere hologram, not a reproduction. It's an extension of Skywalker's being.

He looks into the incorporeal face of his former master. "No."

Skywalker was never actually here. Ren was never going to win. He was set up to fail.

When he numbly steps back and lowers his sabre, Luke says meaningfully, "See you around, kid."

He bows his head, and a moment later, he's gone, without ever actually having been there. Trying to process what just happened, Ren stares at the spot where the Jedi Master stood.

Fake. All fake. Why? What was the point? To humiliate Ren? To—

Wheeling around, he gapes at the mine, at the hole rent in the massive metal door.

A distraction.

 _The Rebellion is reborn today._

A noble sacrifice to buy time so the Resistance could get away.

 _The war is just beginning._

They're gone. They escaped.

And Ren let it happen.

 _"No!"_

 _._

His long, black cape secure about his shoulders, Ren leads the infantry of snowtroopers through the breach in the door, feeling more humiliated than ever before in his life.

A ruler who couldn't keep the bigger picture in view. A leader who selfishly succumbed to emotion. A self-proclaimed master of mystics who didn't recognize a Force projection when it stood before him.

And he should have recognized it. With the clarity of hindsight, he realizes Skywalker all but shouted it from the mountaintop; Ren just didn't pay attention.

The fact that Skywalker didn't appear to have aged. The fact that he avoided direct physical contact. The fact that he wielded a weapon Ren had helped tear apart mere hours earlier.

The fact that the Jedi survived a volley of cannonfire.

Ren should have known. But at the sight of his former master, all reason went out the airlock.

Inside, the dimly lit, cavernous mine smells of dung; no doubt the wildlife made themselves at home while the Rebels were absent. As his eyes adjust, Ren scowls at the transport shuttles that the Order failed to hit. Lining the rock walls are clusters of crates and equipment, some covered with dust, some covered with sheets _and_ dust. Anything that had been left exposed is rusted and worn by decades of salt corrosion.

After telling the troopers to scour the maze of tunnels, he strides toward a room that he expects is the command center. Two troopers accompany him, but he makes a minute gesture with his hand, wordlessly commanding them to wait outside.

The control room is as outdated and filthy as the rest of the base. The layer of scum on the viewport was hastily wiped away; through it Ren can see the entrance of the mine and the compromised door. Crates and cases were stacked to form makeshift tables and benches on which to set up portable comm systems and computers for battle analysis. Black cords and tubes lie on the floor like dead serpents.

Something else lies among them; something gold that glints in the light. Stepping closer to it, Ren sees a pair of dice that look remarkably similar to the ones that used to hang in the cockpit of the _Falcon_.

Sinking onto his haunches in the quiet room, he picks up the two small cubes connected by a short gold chain and studies them.

They _are_ the dice from the _Falcon_. What are they doing in here?

But he doesn't have time to ponder on it.

He feels her, like a warm ray of sunlight touching his cold cheek. And despite everything, he lifts his head quickly, eager to see her again.

.

The entire Resistance can fit on the _Falcon_ with room to spare. As Rey ushers the last member aboard, she tries not to let her mind linger on that distressing fact. It doesn't matter how many of them there are; the concern now is getting them away safely. Though she replaced the boulders to block the exit, it won't take the Order long to find them.

She reaches toward the control that will close the ramp—

And he's there, crouched on the ground at the bottom of the ramp as if waiting for her permission to board. Or waiting for her to disembark. Or—

Waiting, wanting _something_. She doubts even he knows what that something is.

The urge to go to him, to help him, hasn't diminished. Her hand itches to reach out—but he wouldn't come, not like this. Pressing her lips together decisively, she tamps down her sympathy.

Though time is of the essence, she gives him one precious moment, two, to let him know she still cares. That she's willing to take risks for him; that she'll wait for him.

Then, with that point made, she proceeds to demonstrate another: Deliberately, firmly, she presses the button to close the ramp.

She'll help him—but not when he's trying to kill people.

Once the ramp's secure, she hurries to the cockpit to tell Chewie to take off.

.

Ren flinches when the ramp shuts with a firm mechanical click.

She had a wisdom, a maturity, about her that she didn't have before. She's committed to her decision not to join him, faithful to the beliefs by which she defines herself. She's found her identity; she refuses to be anything but a Jedi, and consequently, a Rebel.

He can respect her conviction, even admire it. He was just as determined to be a master of the dark side of the Force. But time and again, he failed to quell the conflict inside him, to achieve the necessary indifference—as evident in his behavior today. And he's struggled long enough to know he'll never be indifferent; not even when he wears the mantle of Supreme Leader.

Despite what she thinks she knows, she's still naive. She'll never be a Jedi. Never a true one. And someday, she'll figure that out. Perhaps then, she'll understand.

He hopes that someday comes more quickly for her than it did for him. He looks down at the golden dice in his hand—just as they fade away.

Before she's left with nothing but an empty fist.

Fatigue pulls at him; consequence weighs on him. He bows his head…and wonders what the hell he's going to do now.

* * *

 **Note** **:** So that's it! I've novelized all of Ben's scenes in TLJ and then some. I don't plan to novelize anything else from the movie, but, believe it or not, I do still plan to work on the Ben Solo character study. Just not quickly, or soon. These things consume huge chunks of time, and while I don't at all regret writing any of this, I do need to focus on other things right now. Thank you to everyone who checked these out and left amazing comments or sent me very touching messages of encouragement–you can't know what they mean to me. I'll be around, reviewing books and posting the occasional Star Wars thought.

If you liked this, let me know. If not, well, constructive criticism has its uses, too. Feel free to share **excerpts** on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, etc.–just please be sure to credit me and link back to my site: noapologybookreviews . com. Thanks, guys!


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